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psithurista · 10 months

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approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

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The back of your head is torturously itchy.

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap.

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside.

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.  

Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability.

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing.

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.” His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius.

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking.

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.”

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles.

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers.

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken.

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful.

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer.

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline.

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper.

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.  It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.  “Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified.   “It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt.

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch.

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap.

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing.

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him.

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you.

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him.

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours.

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest.

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles.

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

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seerofmike · 9 months

Note

ask meme: 5, 6, 7, 13, 14, 20

5. Share one of your strengths.

everyone has always told me that i write invidiual character voices very well. i try to make narration and dialogue distinct and i think i do a great job!

my vantage is completely different from my crypto who is completely different from my octane, and on the surface octane may look like he'd share the same narrative voice as leo from rise but my leo rise voice is different from octane's and ohg i just love writing how different characters would describe things or percieve situations.

i do want to give a special shout out to my vantage from my mad science fic. i don't care for her character that much but writing her was so fun and judging by the reception i got from it when posted people really enjoyed her character voice too.

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

scene-setting, environmental description, action. god this problem plagues me when reading, writing, AND drawing. i simply cannot picture where characters are or what they're doing or how they're having this conversation, sitting down or standing up. in my brain, everything takes place with characters standing around in a white void until something happens in the environment. visually it looks like that one scene in coraline. you know the one

here's how my fic writing process goes. dialogue, emotion and feelings and shit, basic plot action like going to the next necessary location, or maybe a super important event, or the set-up and punchline to a non-verbal joke. then i go back and add like 1k-2k words of just...setting. description. action. response. reaction. physical action. THEN i go over it again for like actual editing and proofreading

i can give you an example right now of what i mean

everything highlighted here was not what was originally written and was added later so the scene would be more than just "he said/he said" and maybe it's because i'm the one who wrote it but like...you can tell it was tacked on.

i'm trying to get better at this and started drawing a storyboard for my current rottmnt fic because that one relies on action more than introspection and dialogue, but if u ever ask me to describe a location...girl i would need 30 minutes to think about it

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

umm...this one is kind of hard actually i don't really remember specific pieces of prose i write outside of dialogue!! if i had to pick it would be maybe this specific bit from chapter five of my simulacrum Crypto AU, Four Oh Three:

this is way more than a snippet lmao but writing this entire chapter was super satisfying with everything i'd set up so far. crypto not knowing if he actually felt attraction to octane or if his feelings were just the lingering result of his programming, trying to figure out what he could feel, IF he could feel, octane touching him and inviting him to touch him in turn, all the conflicting emotions that came with that.

i really felt at the time that it all really came together in a very drawn-out but deserved scene of intimacy (nearly the whole chapter?) after the result of like uhhh 30,000+ words of tension that i don't think i've ever really written before or since. i usually like to get straight into the dick in hole action lmfao but i was very satisfied and proud of myself for this one

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

so this isn't even writing advice it's programming advice LOL but several years ago i heard of rubber duck debugging in which programmers tell a rubber duck their code line by line until they realize what's causing them a problem. and ever since, for lengthy fics or things outside my comfort zone, i've described overarching plot details and invidiual chapters to either stuffed animals or my cat and if it sounds stupid being said out-loud then i usually decide it'd be stupid and nonsensical in a fic too and i change it up LOL

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

controversial opinion maybe but i think telling people that every scene in a book should only serve the narrative/plot is STUPID!!!!!!!!!!!! books aren't movies, you don't have a runtime limit!!! i think you lose out on so much character and introspection and world-building by forcing every scene in your book to only be plot-relevant stuff. sometimes characters interacting with each other and doimg stuff in their world is just fun or interesting and that's all it has to be

20.) Describe your perfect writing conditions.

i have my headphones plugged in and am listening to my music. the chair is comfy and i can lean back but my laptop is on a solid surface. i am supplied endlessly with coffee and fizzy drinks. all is well

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mde1011 · 3 years

Text

some quotes from the first hour and a half of wilburs stream today

⁃ “dONT LAUGH AT THAT RANBOO SEX IS NOT FUNNY” “sex is only funny if you’re age thirty two or over”

⁃ “IM A FEMININE EMINEM”

⁃ “ranboo if we win will you say a swear word” “....yes” “which one will you say wil you say piss or shit or fuck or wanker or what about cum is cum a swear word” “that was a beautiful verse”

⁃ “COME ON KING GO KING BLOW UP KING”

⁃ “PHIL I DONT KNOW YOU ANYMORE youareaghostotme”

⁃ “phil as the rookie around here you are impressive”

⁃ “RANBOO IN EXACTLY TEN SECONDS TUBBO IS GONNA SLAP YOU IN THE HEAD DUCK” “.....phil”

⁃ “we’re gonna make this the worst bestseller ever even bigger than the bible”

⁃ “tubbo approves this book” “and the next page is a page of awful quotes and it’s ‘tubbo approves of all these quotes’”

⁃ “if i hit space bar harder will i jump further” “phil if i click faster will i fly?”

⁃ “sALLY WAS A SALMON CHAT- sorry carry on”

⁃ “WILL DID U HAVE THE HOTS FOR MILO”

⁃ “all i’m saying is you found milo and a year later you’re messing around with a fish”

⁃ “everytime i see more and more fanart i like the idea of a shapeshifter more” “yeahhhhh less cursed”

⁃ “i still like the salmon thing.....phil you got down and dirty with a fridge” “NO”

⁃ “why is tom cruise your favorite minecraft content creator” “i love thomas cruise”

⁃ “his tooth is in the middle of his face” “.......what”

⁃ “that’s so cool :D how do i do that”

⁃ “when you enjoy scientology your face becomes symmetrical”

⁃ “phil how do you feel about scientology in front of hundreds of thousands of people-“ “i fucking HATE it” “phil this is how you get assassinated king”

⁃ “heaven premium. heaven plus. heaven prime.”

⁃ “yOULL GO TO HEAVEN IF YOU PRIME IN TOM-ISM”

⁃ “iM GOiNg tO wRiTe A pEaCefUL sOnG aBoUt yOu”

⁃ “he told me i couldn’t swear that much in chat and then i saw the tier list and i thought ‘nah’”

⁃ “for ever second that i don’t have op in saying another swear word”

⁃ “you can swear in chat it’ll just be censored” “wHY WOULD I WANT THAT”

⁃ “WHY IS PENIS BANNED” “what game would you-“ “BATTLE BOX IS PENIS SHAPED”

⁃ “OH BUT YOU CAN SAY VERJINA THIS IS MODERN DAY SEXIsm”

⁃ “woman are always right but that doesn’t mean i shouldn’t be able to say penis in chat”

⁃ “i just googled old fashioned swear words and snails is one”

⁃ “tommy flash bangs hermit craft whenever he had to swear in chat”

⁃ “gosh dang it tommy stop flash banging me”

⁃ “it’s respectful to the creators who are pg” “yeah but it’s disrespectful to me” “you will never be in a team with grian”

⁃ “ this conversation is really going by the double-barrel-jumping-jimothy if you ask me”

⁃ “it’s because i fancy wil-“ “oooooooohohoho” “but you wONT GIVE ME OP”

⁃ “tommy being a chat moderator is like a nun being a stripper”

⁃ “do you think theres scientologist nuns?” “what i wouldnt do to take a scientolognun”

⁃ “i love scientology i love scientology so much and the thing i like about religion is the amount of money i give to it”

⁃ “i’m gonna make the bible two”

⁃ “you can write the new testament two” “i’m gonna make jesus go through an angst arc”

⁃ “the bible ends with a bunch of deleted scenes” “it ends with a dreamXD video”

⁃ “i’ve still never heard georgenotfound swear” “i have.” “....sorry everyone”

⁃ “someone in my chat said ‘where’s heaven’ i’m sorry i cant help you” “...i can. in my new and upcoming book”

⁃ “32° 35° is probably not heaven it’s on the contested border of israel and palestine so.....yeah.”

⁃ “according to my book: why i’m right” “why i’m right according to tommyinnit”

⁃ “what i wouldnt do to go to space with tubbo” “next vlog” “if i could go to space with anyone it would be tubbo” “he’d have such a humble grin. he’s be content” “and then he’d die. he’d burst”

⁃ “dude. phil. i- stay safe. cuz- cuz i know we joke but you- you ARE old”

⁃ “scott to you ever worry that you’ll die alone” “every. day.” “i don’t”

⁃ “so you think i’m gonna die alone?” “.....i don’t wanna talk about this”

⁃ “....so, in conclusion, scott...he’ll marry anyone” “.......i’ve really sat here just trying to process the last few things tommy has said”

⁃ “scott you won’t die alone i’ll zoom you on your death bed”

⁃ “you can’t live cast your death bed it’s again twitch TOS” “wHAT DOES IT MATTER IM DEAD”

⁃ “i am not going to die” “i just will not die i am a god” “you are an idiot you do not believe in tom cruise”

⁃ “one of the higher things in scientology is you can revive things-“ “pPPPPPPHAAAAA”

⁃ “toooommm this is the third time this week you’ve just stood there and not called an ambulance and just. hummed in a high pitch”

⁃ “i love my fans like i love my crypto”

⁃ “time is a social construct king”

⁃ “grian told me THINK FAST and then SHOT MY FATHER”

#some of these are slightly paraphrased #because i was speed typing while watching live #so #deal with it #tommyinnit #wilbur #wilbur soot #scott smajor #smajor #philza #philza minecraft #mcc #mcyt #1011.speaks #tubbo #dream #dreamwastaken #dsmp #ranboo

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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Text

For Tom x

Pairing: Tom Holland x singer!reader

Summary: You have a surprise for Tom:)

Warnings: none, just pure teeth rotting Fluff:)

A/n: Hello my loves! This is literally a rewrite because I accidentally deleted the original version of this story on Tumblr RIGHT before I was gonna post it😭 Anyway here it is, I hope you all like it! Ally x

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

look at my sunshine🥺

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Your giggles filled the hallway as you lead Tom into your makeshift studio. Since you were quarantining with him and his mates in their shared home in London, you were miles away from your crew and studio. Which, yes, made it difficult to record an entire album on your own—but it did give you the creative freedom to do whatever you pleased for the album.

The boys had their own creative outlets; for example putting together a puzzle or having a movie marathon. While you found those activities enjoyable, the inner singer in you couldn’t stop thinking of beats or coming up with lyrics in your head. You needed the studio—you needed to bring those beats and lyrics to life before you could forget them. So with the help of the houses’ tech lord himself, Harry made it possible for you to have your own little studio in the spare guest room of the house. There, you spent endless days writing and recording things like harmonies and building melodies. Little did you know that this would lead to the creation of your sixth album. Now a couple months later, your latest album is currently in its final stages and would soon be released to the world.

Tom adoringly watched your figure, which was drowned in one of his oversized jumpers, excitedly skip towards the guest room. As soon as you were both inside, you rushed to close the door and eagerly pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What have you been up to, lovey?” He teasingly asks you. He knew you were up to something, he just didn’t know if it were bad or good.

Your figure was bent over the desk where your laptop was located. Turning over your shoulder you tell him, “It’s nothing bad, I promise!” You’re met with an amused grin on his blush pink lips.

Gathering your laptop into your arms, you move to sit beside Tom on the bed. He curiously leans forward, trying to get a glance at what’s on your screen.

“Nuh uh, it’s a surprise, Thomas.” You playfully scold him and gently push his face away from your laptop. He responds with a pout against your palm before pressing a kiss onto your skin. You continue to click around on your laptop, looking through your documents for the specific file.

Meanwhile, Tom shuffles further up the bed, getting comfortable. He notices the new distance between you and him and decides that he’s unsatisfied with the additional inches. He choses to snake his arms around your waist and lifts you up, happily placing you on the empty and lonely space on his lap. Laying down on his back, he takes a moment to admire the way you look in his jumper. It was a few sizes bigger than you and stopped right above your knees. The jumper may have looked good on him, but it looked absolutely perfect on you.

“You look so cute in my jumper.” He hums, hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs. Your nose scrunches up as you lightly slap his chest; your silent way of saying “shut up” whenever Tom would say something that made you blush.

You finally find the file you were looking for and place your laptop on your lap. You nervously glance at your screen, biting down on your lip out of habit.

“Ok, so I did something.” You started. Tom squints his eyes at you, “That sounds like the beginning of a really bad something.”

You huff, “I just told you it wasn’t anything bad! Do you want your surprise or not?”

Tom chuckles and grasps onto your thighs, “Yes—yes, sorry, keep going.”

“So you know how I’ve already finished my album?” You question him. Tom nods, staring up at you while you sit on his thighs.

“Well, I wrote a few more songs that were supposed to be on the album. But I don’t know, I felt a bit greedy and decided to keep them for myself.” You explain. Tom raises a brow at you, “Baby, you don’t have to feel guilty about keeping songs to yourself. If you don’t want to share them, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s just that, they’re about you.” You pause, staring down at your fingers that fiddled together. “Like I wrote them specifically for you to listen to. I wanted to include them on the album, but it just didn’t feel right to share something that was meant only for you.”

You place your laptop on the bed and turn it so the screen is facing Tom.

“So...as a solution, I made you your own album.” You were too busy avoiding his stare, that you missed the twinkle in Tom’s coffee colored orbs. He carefully sits up, his arms around you getting tighter, as he pulls you closer into his chest. Tom ducks his head down to yours, nudging your nose with his to get you to look at him. When your eyes finally meet, the lopsided grin on his features grows wider.

“You made me my own album?”

“Yeah.” You shyly answer. Tom softly coos at you, cupping your face and pressing a chaste kiss onto both of your cheeks.

“You are the most precious thing in the world, sunshine, I swear.” He squishes your cheeks together and began to cover your face with butterfly like kisses. Sweet laughs erupt from you, the sounds making Tom’s heart swell.

You stuff your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, using it as a place to hide from his lips. Instead, Tom opts to lay his kisses along the side of your face, your neck, and your shoulder.

“Lemme kiss you!” He whines. You chuckle at him, finally moving away from his neck. His attention darts towards your lips more than once, prompting you to lean forward and connect them with his. Tom’s lips were soft against yours, like clouds or cushiony pillows. The kiss was short and sweet; though it didn’t prevent you from feeling the adoration and passion he felt for you in that moment. In fact, he felt it all the time, but right now, his love for you was coursing through his veins.

He finally pulls away, leaving the taste of him linger in your mouth. “Can I have a listen?” He motions his head towards your laptop beside him.

“Go ahead.” Tom’s arms unravel from your waist, the area they once occupied left cold and yearning for his warmth. He uses one of his elbows to hold himself up and the other to control the touchpad. His eyes scan the file.

For Tom x

someone like u

test drive

worst behavior

main thing

He glances at you, “I start with ‘someone like u’, right?” You reply with a quiet “mhm”.

Tom clicks on the link. The opening notes of ‘someone like u’ begin to play followed by your angelic voice. You hear him release a content sigh, making a small smile to form on your lips. His arms make their way around you again, this time holding you closer against him. He rests his head on your chest and sneakily presses a kiss onto your neck. You fondly run a hand through his curly hair and rest your chin on the top of his head, listening to the songs you’ve made for him.

The two of you listen through the album in one go with no stops. You found joy in Tom’s reactions towards every song. Sometimes he would make little comments or sounds of shock whenever he heard you hit a certain note. He nodded along to the beats of ‘test drive’ and ‘worst behavior’, dancing around in his seat and making you join him. This time, you didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes when he listened closely to the lyrics. ‘Main thing’ got him the most, leaving him with a goofy-lovesick grin plastered onto his face.

When ‘main thing’ came to a close, the room became silent, leaving Tom enough time to process the four songs you wrote about him and the meanings behind them.

You were the first to speak, “So did you like it?” You scan his face looking for any signs of dislike.

Tom’s eyes widen, “Are you kidding me? That was bloody fantastic—that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard! I’m obsessed with it, oh my god!” He expressed, arms moving around as he spoke.

His face was radiating with happiness, “You are the most talented and loving woman in the world. And I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you or your love—but I just love you so fucking much.”

“I love you so fucking much too, you dork.” You laugh, pecking his lips.

“No, but seriously, thank you so much. I know you’re used to writing songs, but the fact that you actually took the time to write songs about me means a lot. They’re just a bunch of songs, but they mean the world to me and I cherish each and every one of them.” He admits, taking one of your hands and placing it onto his heart. Your palm feels the faint rhythm of his heart beating against his chest.

You tilt your head at him, mirroring the smile on his face, “I’ll always write songs about you. You somehow manage to inspire them anyway.”

Tom smirks, “Well I am Tom Holland.” You snort and roll your eyes at his humble brag.

“You’re still a dork, Tommy.” You comment.

Tom shrugs, “I’m a special dork because I’m your dork. Therefore making me superior to the other existing dorks—there’s a difference, darling.”

“And where did you come up with this hypothesis, Mr. Holland?” You question him, playing along with his antics.

“It’s Tom’s Theory.” He answers with feign seriousness. You burst out laughing, “Oh is it?”

Tom leans down to your laptop and restarts his album. “Yes, and now Tom’s Theory, believes that we should listen to the album again until I learn all the lyrics to every single song.” He proclaims.

“Babe, you don’t have to—” Tom stops you, “I’m dead serious.”

It was going to be a long night.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Tags ↴

*@/username = Tumblr won’t let me tag you :( *

Tom Holland + characters Taglist

↪︎ @lovableparker @aprettyfleur @sunwardsss @dummiesshort @thotforcriminalminds @cuddlykoala101 @itstaskeen @whoslili @white-wolf1940 @tomsirishgirlx @roseke @kaylans-imagines @spideyspeaches @slutforsebstan

General Taglist

↪︎ @quxxnxfhxll @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @thegirlwiththediary @agustdowney @bi-lmg @rqmanoff @sesamepancakes @stardustofreading

#tom holland x singer!reader #Tom Holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #Tom Holland fluff #tom holland headcanon #avengers #tom holland drabble #mcu #tom holland blurb #marvel #tom holland one shot #ally’s request #thomas stanley holland #Tom Holland one shots

691 notes · View notes

tyonfs · 4 years

Text

game on.

❝ you play your games, and i’ll play mine. ❞

PAIRING ▸ liu yangyang x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, friends to lovers, some fluff and crack

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, hendery being oblivious as fuck, dirty talk, smut, oral sex, some aftercare

SUMMARY ▸ the lines have always been blurred between you and yangyang. you, fed up with your best friend being an absolute boy and gaming away his problems, decided to take matters into your own hands.

WORD COUNT ▸ 3238 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello! i impulsively wrote this so consider this my contribution for yangyang day ♡ i hope you guys enjoy !!

YOU WERE PISSED.

It wasn’t like you were expecting much. You just wanted to spend the evening with your best friend on the one day you both had time to hang out, but he clearly had other plans. YangYang had been playing video games all day while you were just sitting on his bed and watching him like an idiot. You rolled your eyes, going through your phone for about the umpteenth time as you listened to him yell commands at Hendery.

“Go mid, go mid!” he shouted into his mic, furiously clicking his mouse and tapping keys in tune with his command.

You finally gave up and walked over to him, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. “YangYang,” you called with a frown. “We were supposed to watch a movie tonight.”

YangYang, startled, took off his headphones for a moment to peer up at you. “What did you say? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

You despised the gentleness of his tone. YangYang was definitely sweet by nature and had good intentions (save for his wild streak), but sometimes he was simply insensitive and ignorant of his actions. You wondered if he knew how annoying it was for you to have to sit on his bed for over an hour just to be ignored. It didn’t exactly help that you had the biggest crush on him and overanalyzed every single word and action.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Fine, YangYang. Keep playing your silly game,” you snapped and went back to his bed with a scowl. “I’ll just sit here and do nothing.”

YangYang seemed to realize that he had been neglecting you, so he mumbled a curt apology to Hendery into his mic and paused his game. It sounded as if Hendery was whining, but YangYang turned off his mic and put his headset down. He got up and walked over to you, sitting at the edge of his bed where you were curled up.

He raised a brow at you. “Happy?”

That tone of his just pissed you off even more.

“You can go back to playing your game if that’s what you want,” you mumbled, clearly jealous that he was prioritizing his game over you.

“I want to spend time with you.” YangYang slid his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for gaming while you were over.”

You let yourself be vulnerable and crumble for a moment, but then you ducked your head so he couldn’t see, mumbling, “I’ve been waiting here like an idiot.”

“Hug?” he offered, hoping it would make up for his wrongdoings.

You pursed your lips. You refused to give in so easily, especially when it came to Liu YangYang. He had a knack for getting what he wanted with a simple flash of that dazzling grin. In short, you were tired of having to wait for him.

You weren’t sure if that meant wait for him to hang out with you or notice your feelings for him, but both answers seemed to align well.

The lines had always been blurred between you two. It had gotten to the point where even his friends didn’t believe him when he would say he wasn’t dating you. Maybe what gave it away was the way you both would hug for a little too long, or the lingering stares, or maybe even the way he’d hold your hand when he didn’t have to.

However, whenever the topic of dating arose, you’d either shy away from the conversation or change the topic quickly.

“No.” You stood up, dragging him up by the arm and over to his gaming setup. You sat him down in his chair and slung a leg around his thigh, sliding onto his lap. “You keep playing.”

YangYang seemed to stiffen up as you straddled him, tucking your head into his shoulder. He kept you close to him, though, and placed a hesitant hand on the small of your back. You could hear him swallow thickly as he put his headphones back on and rejoined his game. He didn’t question your command, but you could tell he was much more jittery.

You turned your head a little. You could see the blush on his face and the tension in his jaw.

You scooted up further into his lap, noting how he froze as you did. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and although the two of you were practically cuddling, it felt odd with Hendery’s voice coming from YangYang’s headphones.

“Dude, where were you?” Hendery asked. “The enemy team nearly got your turret.”

“Sorry about that,” YangYang apologized, looking like a bundle of nerves, which was something you hadn’t seen before. You shifted slightly and YangYang quickly turned off his mic before cursing under his breath. “D-don’t do that.”

You stilled. YangYang just stammered, and you swore you could hear his breath hitch. A devious part of you wanted to take this further and see where it would go.

“Don’t do what?” you asked innocently, adjusting your position subtly.

There it was.

YangYang’s hard-on pressing into your thigh. The bulge from his grey sweatpants was so obvious, and it sent butterflies to your stomach. You couldn’t stop yourself from exhaling sharply into YangYang’s neck, making his erection grow and your head spin.

“That,” he grunted out, hand coming back from the keyboard to hold your lower back again.

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you observed, biting your lip as you felt him twitch under you.

Your best friend clearly didn’t want to push you, but he was enticed, and it made your heart race. “You mean… you want to?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah,” you said, hiding your face so you didn’t have to meet his eyes. This was all you’ve ever wanted, of course, but you still wanted pay-back for being neglected. “Keep playing your game.”

YangYang continued playing, although you noticed the slight shift. There was a tremor in his hands and he was very unsure about his hand placement every time he came back to hold your back. Although, you underestimated his confidence because when you were least expecting it, he bucked his hips up against yours.

You bit back a mewl, one hand gripping his shoulder tightly as his movements became repetitive. You weren’t looking at him but you knew YangYang was smug, trying to get a response out of you. You arched your hips off of his lap and he grabbed your waist, pushing you back down, right onto his rock-hard boner.

YangYang bit your earlobe as his hot breath fanned the side of your neck. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep quiet, but it was impossible when he was rolling hips up against yours. You could almost picture the smirk on his face.

You whimpered out softly, dangerously close to his mic. Initially, you didn’t mind, only thinking about his reaction to your sounds, until you realized the worst had happened. Fear shot down your spine as you straightened up quickly.

His mic was on.

“What was that?” you heard Hendery ask.

“Louis,” YangYang replied smoothly.

“Louis? He’s at my place.”

“Um…” YangYang trailed off. “Anyways, let’s push bot since we’re at their base.” He turned off his mic again and pulled you back to him, nibbling at the base of your neck. “Panties off,” he murmured, sliding his sweats and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free.

YangYang had, once again, gotten his way.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his throbbing cock. Desire coiled in your gut, making your entire body flush. You got off of his lap to do as he said, looping your fingers in your belt loops to tease your shorts down.

YangYang did a double take, finding it hard to focus on the game and on you at the same time. His eyes briefly met yours before they trained on your lower body, lust clouding them. Before you could take off your panties, however, YangYang was slain in the game, and had to turn on his mic as Hendery started complaining.

“That jungler is a pain in the ass!” Hendery whined. “But, dude, you’ve only got five kills so far. You good?”

“Yeah, um, I’m not doing so hot this game,” YangYang replied, shooting you a glance and leaning back in his chair as he waited out the cooldown. “The heat’s getting to me, I guess.”

“YangYang, it’s winter,” Hendery replied. YangYang closed his eyes for a moment, opening his mouth to retort, but Hendery continued, “Shit, okay, come mid with me.”

YangYang hummed in agreement and turned his mic off, a darker look in his eyes when he turned to you. “Suck me off, baby,” he said in a low voice, adding, “please.”

“But we were supposed to—”

You stopped yourself as a flush of heat crept up your neck. YangYang looked amused as you bit your lip and got to your knees, crawling toward him so that you were between his legs. When you looked up at him, he looked as if he was at his limit.

YangYang ran his thumb along your lower lip, hand cradling your chin. “I’ll make you feel good after this game, baby,” he reassured.

You nodded, pouting at how flustered he was making you feel. Getting distracted again, YangYang moved his attention to his game again, tapping keys repeatedly. You narrowed your eyes, displeased at the lack of attention.

You play your games, and I’ll play mine, you thought bitterly.

This was an unpredictable jump in your relationship with him, and you were just realizing it as you took ahold of his cock, loving how it twitched in your grip. Your lips grazed the soft skin, causing him to hiss through his teeth, squirming a bit in his seat.

YangYang’s breathing was growing ragged and uneven.

You closed your eyes and took the head of his cock into your mouth, hesitating before sucking lightly on it. You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled at how a vein appeared on his neck. YangYang unmuted his mic to reply to Hendery’s commands, removing his hand from the keyboard to grab your hair in a fistful and push you down on his cock.

A loud whimper escaped you as the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. Finding a balance between teasing and careful, you bobbed your head, relishing how the thick veins along his length pulsated against your tongue. YangYang had to mute again, letting out a low and guttural groan when you started building up a faster rhythm.

He died again in the game.

Loser, you thought childishly.

But now, YangYang could focus on you while he was on cooldown. He tugged at your hair, whining when you pulled off of him. You met his eyes and lapped at his slit that was leaking with precum. YangYang’s eyes darkened and he thrusted back into your mouth, making you whimper as you suddenly took him in your throat. You moaned against his cock and let him fuck your throat, digging your nails into his thighs.

You were startled when he seized up, grunting as his hot seed shot down your throat. You swallowed it and pulled off of him, wiping your mouth with a proud glint dancing in your eyes.

YangYang let out a pleased little sigh. “Sit on my lap, baby.”

His cooldown was over.

You got up from your spot on the floor and straddled his lap again, but YangYang was wrecked. He saw your eager expression and chuckled, bemused. He unmuted his mic to speak to Hendery but let his fingers dip into your panties, rubbing his slender fingers against your clit in slow circles.

“P-please,” you breathed out, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

“Patience, baby,” YangYang cooed in your ear.

“What did you just call me?” Hendery’s dumbfounded voice resounded from the speakers. “Did you say baby?”

“You’re hearing things,” YangYang brushed off while you wanted to die of embarrassment.

“Yo, we did it!” Hendery cheered a minute later while YangYang was still working on your clit. The words victory flashed across the screen in bright blue. “Dude, you wanna play TFT to celebrate?”

“Yeah, no,” YangYang said bluntly, ending the call and tossing his headphones onto his desk so he could turn his attention to you. He ghosted his hands along your sides. “I have my prize right here.”

“YangYang,” you whined out since he left your clit alone before you could finish.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” he mumbled, kissing down the column of your neck. “Let me make it up to you.”

YangYang rubbed your hips in slow circles before removing your shirt carefully, examining your body with hungry eyes. He leaned forward to press kisses from your stomach to your chest, making your heart thunder in your chest. When he reached your chest, his hands slid to the back to unhook your bra. With an easy snap, he unhooked the undergarment and slid the straps down, biting his lip at the sight of you in full glory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, peppering kisses around your nipple and then sucking lightly on the bud.

“YangYang,” you cried out softly.

Your best friend broke away for a moment to open his drawer behind you pulling out a little silver packet. You watched him tear it open and slide the latex around his throbbing cock. How he managed to get it up again was beyond your understanding. After all, horny boys will be horny boys.

He leaned back in his seat, smirking up at you. “Go ahead, baby, fuck yourself on my cock,” he instructed, grabbing his shirt by the nape so he could slide it off, revealing his v-cut abs.

You swallowed hard.

First of all, YangYang was absolutely hung.

Second of all, you had no experience in this field of sexual activity. This was feeling more like paranormal activity because you had no idea how his massive cock was going to fit inside you without rearranging your guts.

“But you’re so… big,” you whispered, looking at his length as he gave it a few pumps.

A soft look crossed YangYang’s face. He picked you up easily, hands gripping your thighs as he laid you on his bed. There was so much care and softness to his touch as he got over you and lined himself with your entrance. The way he looked down at you was full of pure adoration and it made your breath get caught in your throat.

“Ready?” he asked, moving your hair out of your face.

You bit your lip and nodded, bracing yourself by holding onto his shoulders.

You thought he would start, but to your surprise, he pressed his lips to yours, one hand gently cupping your face. You kissed him back fervently, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lost in the taste of his lips, YangYang slowly pushed himself into you, a strangled groan tearing past his lips at how tight you were. You broke from the kiss to tuck your face into his shoulder, crying out as you were stuck in the crossroads of pain and pleasure.

YangYang’s grip on your waist tightened. “Fuck, babygirl.”

“You’re so big,” you replied with a pleased sigh, your hand sliding up the nape of his neck to curl into his hair. Your hips shifted a little as your walls adjusted around him.

“Damn right I am,” YangYang replied smugly, starting to thrust in you at a leisurely pace. He slid a hand into your hair and groaned as your walls squeezed around him. “God, your cunt’s so fucking tight.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, flustered by his comment. A moan escaped your lips when he hit a certain spot in you that set you on fire. “R-right there!”

“Nice and vocal,” he cooed, slowing down his pace in favor of deeper thrusts, “just how I like it.” A groan tore past his lips as he fucked you into the mattress. “I want to feel this,” he growled. “I want to feel you.”

Waves of pleasure hit you with each thrust, overwhelming you to the point of tears streaming down your face. He was so big and you could feel him in your lower abdomen, but the pain eased away and you could only feel yourself on the edge of euphoria.

“Shit, YangYang, it feels so good,” you mewled out weakly. “H-harder.”

YangYang grabbed ahold of your legs and moved them over his shoulders while he pinned your hips down. He let out a shaky breath and slammed into you harder, making sure to linger whenever he went as deep as he could. You were a moaning mess by now, holding onto him for dear life as he pounded inside of you.

You were already so close, pre-stimulated from him fingering your clit earlier, and his powerful thrusts were making you lose your grip.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You nodded weakly, meeting his intense gaze. “I think I’m close,” you told him in a breath.

“Cum for me, angel,” YangYang urged, moving his hand down to rub your clit again as he quickened his pace. “I want to hear you say my name. Who’s making you cum?”

“Y-you, YangYang,” you sobbed, digging your nails into his back. “F-fuck—”

You couldn’t even finish what you were saying, nor did you remember what you were going to say because you fell off the edge first. You broke apart in front of him, crying out in pure bliss as you released against his cock. The pleasure in your gut that was building up had now flooded your body, but YangYang still fucked you through your orgasm until he, too, fell apart.

Sweat beaded your flushed skin, but you only noticed it when YangYang’s forehead was against yours, his breathing slow and heavy. He pulled out of you, using up the little energy he had to toss the used condom in the trash before he trudged back to his bed. He got in next to you and pulled you to his body, enveloping you into his warmth.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he mumbled against your skin.

You were still catching your breath, still winded from your orgasm. Now, YangYang was so tender, so gentle, that you were at a loss for words. It was almost laughable compared to the filthy words that were coming from his mouth early.

You cuddled close to him, wrapping a leg around his hip. “Don’t be,” you said with a smile. “It felt really good.”

YangYang grinned and kissed your forehead, your cheeks, then pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. You scrunched up your nose at the contact but he just kissed all over your face.

“I’m glad you felt the same way,” he murmured. “I was starting to get scared that we would just have perpetual tension between us forever.”

“Of course not,” you said with a laugh. “Xiaojun would’ve beat you up if you kept denying anything between us.”

“Well, now I can stop denying it, at least,” he mused, holding up your hand to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles.

“I still can’t believe we did that.”

“I mean,” YangYang started, plastering an easy smile on his face, “I’m always good to go again.”

Needless to say, you ended up taking him up on that offer for a few more rounds.

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Ok so what sbout remus/sirius being too sick to go to an away game so the other one has to go alone, and then tons of facetime conversations and "get well soon" videos from the team?

This is related to this fic about Remus and Finn bonding over terrible reporters--hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, and the Loops/ Talker bonding is for @lee-1012!

TW for illness

“You don’t look so good.” Remus frowned as he held the inside of his wrist against Sirius’ forehead. “And you definitely have a fever.”

“Non.” Sirius sat up on his elbows with a groan, then almost immediately flopped back down.

“Yes.” He leaned back on his heels and checked the clock—they had two hours before they had to be at the airport. “Baby, I don’t think you should—”

“ ‘m going.”

“It’s not a good—”

“Gotta go. Games.” Sirius cracked one glassy eye open. “Two weeks away. I’ll take the first couple days off.”

Remus sighed through his nose and brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “You shouldn’t go on the plane if you’re sick. Not just for your sake, but for the rest of us. We don’t need everyone to come down with this.”

He received a halfhearted glare in response, but Sirius finally huffed and curled on his side to nuzzle against his thigh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, baby,” Remus said quietly, bending to kiss his temple. They hadn’t been apart for that long since before he was a player, nearly a year prior. Hell, he had never played a game without Sirius, let alone two weeks’ worth. “Lily will check on you, okay?”

Sirius mumbled an incoherent response and cuddled closer when he began combing his fingers through his hair. The second alarm beeped, loud against the quiet of their bedroom; time to go, he thought ruefully. Sirius touched his knee as he started to stand. “Love you. Be safe.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

“Go back to sleep,” Remus said as his heart clenched. “I’ll let Coach know what happened, but you’ve got to rest and take care of yourself. Hydrate or die-drate, yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Sleep,” he repeated, kissing his forehead once more before hauling himself out of bed and tucking the covers around Sirius’ shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

------------------------

The clouds were a soft, pastel pink around them as the sun rose—Sirius’ favorite. If his phone was correct, Lily would be there soon to let Hattie out and make sure Sirius wasn’t pushing himself too hard. The thought brought Remus a bit of relief, but not enough to quell his concern.

Talker poked his forearm, snapping him from his reverie. “What’s going on?”

“Just worrying.”

“About Cap?”

Remus waved a hand vaguely. “And Hattie, and Lily, and whether he’s got a cold or something worse. Feels weird being here without him.”

Talker hummed his agreement and offered one of his earbuds. “Want to listen to half of Bohemian Rhapsody with me? It’ll give you five minutes and 55 seconds of relative peace.”

“It’s too quiet,” James groaned just before he pressed ‘play’.

Across the aisle, Remus saw Kasey roll his eyes. “Your husband is sick, dude, not dead. He doesn’t talk to you on planes anyway.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Bliz.”

“Oh my god,” Kasey muttered under his breath, securing his headphones tightly over his ears.

James let his head flop to the side with a baleful look. “Loops, you’re on my side, right?”

“I’ve got you, buddy,” he assured him. Talker stifled a laugh, and the opening chords began as more clouds rolled past. Remus let himself drift with them, taking deep breaths to soothe his worries; Sirius would be fine. He had the sniffles, or at worst the flu, and he would be join them for the second week in top form. There was nothing to worry about.

---------------------------------

“He’s got pneumonia,” Lily sighed.

“He what?”

“A mild case, but the doctor said it would take a week of antibiotics and rest before he’s close to a hundred percent. No hockey for about a month, too.”

Remus stared at the wall of his empty hotel room, lost for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty m—absolutely not, go lay down.” There was a rustling noise and two grumbling voices. “Sorry about that.”

“Will you put me on speaker real quick?” Remus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose until he heard a faint click. “Sirius? You there?”

“Yes! I miss you, and I was just going to tell you that it’s really not that—”

“Please sit your ass down. Lily, if he tries to fuck around and find out exactly how nasty pneumonia is, you have full permission to sit on him. I miss you too, love,” he added after a short pause.

“He’s blowing you a kiss,” Lily informed him. “Oh, and he’s giving me the puppy eyes.”

“Resist if you can. Love you both. Give Hattie lots of cuddles from me.”

“We will,” she promised.

The second the call ended, Remus groaned aloud and thumped his head against the wall before padding down the hall. Just my fucking luck. The door swung open after the second knock; Arthur’s face fell. “How bad is it?”

“Mild pneumonia.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep. Doctor said he’d be out for a month.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes and nodded, motioning Remus back towards his own room. “Get some rest, then. I’ll let everyone know in the morning. Any idea how he got it?”

“Not a clue.”

“Thanks for the update, Loops. Sleep tight.”

“I will,” Remus lied as he headed back for a sleepless night between cold sheets.

----------------------------

Lily sent updates every few hours; most reported that Sirius was sleeping well and looking better with each passing day, but Remus couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty. If something happened while he was hundreds of miles away, he would never forgive himself. He had sworn in front of their closest friends and family to be there in sickness and in health—what kind of husband ditches their partner for one of a million roadies?

This one. He stabbed a piece of broccoli and shoved it in his mouth. And then he goes and makes an idiot of himself for the world to see.

The interview was supposed to be easy, but he couldn’t let it roll off anymore. Not when he couldn’t answer their questions even when he wanted to, not when he was states away from the love of his life while he was sick, not when he felt helpless and shoved aside in every current aspect of his life.

“So.” The chair next to him creaked as Talker planted his full weight in it and set his plate decisively on the table.

“What.”

“Oh, pissy Loops. Haven’t seen you in a while. Talked to Cap yet?”

“Yeah.” Another piece of broccoli fell victim to his frustration.

“How’s he sound?”

“Better.”

“Sweet.” Talker continued to munch away on his dinner. “Anyone ever told you that you have the general disposition of a wet cat when you’re upset?”

Remus tried and failed to keep down a smile. “I seem to recall you bringing it up on occasion, yes.”

His dark eyes softened and he bumped their elbows together. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

“Really, Loops. Cap’s going to be just fine. Lily doesn’t sugar-coat this kind of stuff, and he’s a tough guy. Mild pneumonia doesn’t stand a chance. Besides, we’ve only got four days left and we need you to kick some ass out there.”

If Remus was a little more emotionally vulnerable, he would’ve burst into tears. Instead, he settled for leaning his temple against Talker’s with a quiet ‘thanks’ and allowed himself to be pulled into a side hug. Across the dining hall, Finn shot him a thumbs-up and a wink. “Love you, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Talker teased. “The internet is already coming to your aid, you know.”

“About…?”

“Not only have those asshole reporters become a new meme, you’ve also got a shit ton of people bringing up past mistreatment of athletes in the press room. You’re the face of a revolution, Loops.”

“I’ve been the face of too many revolutions for one person,” he groused, not even bothering to duck out of the way when Talker ruffled his hair.

“Well, one more won’t kill you.”

---------------------------------------

Remus’ heart raced as he stepped off the plane. The logical part of him knew that Sirius would be waiting outside the security gate, but everything else screamed to see him now, now, right now so he could be sure he was alright. At least he had sounded healthier on the phone the night before—Remus wasn’t sure what he would do otherwise.

“Deep breaths,” James reminded him as they walked toward the baggage claim. “I’m sure he’s—”

An excited shout broke through the thick crowds. Remus’ heart skipped a beat, and then he was running, racing through the people that parted for him as his vision tunneled. His carry-on hit the ground with a low thud that he hardly heard as Sirius lifted him straight off the ground and held him tight.

“I love you,” Remus said immediately, locking his ankles around Sirius’ lower back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

In lieu of a response, Sirius pulled back and kissed him, cradling one side of his face in his warm, warm hand. Two weeks may as well have been an eternity. He broke away after a moment, searching his face for any signs of illness or pain. “I’m fine,” Sirius said softly, as if he could read his mind. “I promise. A little tired and sore, but there’s no lasting damage.”

“Don’t do that again,” Remus said into the side of his neck as he hugged him close. He smelled like home. “Not when I have to leave.”

Sirius’ arms were steady around his back. “I won’t.”

“I’m going to grill you on everything as soon as we get home.”

“I know.”

“But right now, I’m just going to hug you because I missed you and I worried myself into a hole, like, every night.”

He could feel Sirius’ smile against his shoulder. “I know.”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #thomas walker #talker #james potter #lily potter #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #sick fic

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ageofevermore · 3 years

Text

The Autocomplete Interview

Summary → your favorite thing about interviews is how cuddly tom gets afterwards, almost like he’s a life size teddy bear.

Warning(s) → literally nothing but fluff and tom getting teased by the reader and zendaya

Word Count → 1.5k

add yourself to my taglist

Tom has his arms wrapped around your waist, rocking your bodies while the makeup team touches up your eyes and hair. He’s in a conversation with Harry and Zendaya, occasionally humming as if he thinks you’ve said something, before he goes back to them. It’s heartwarming.

Buzzfeed is your last interview of the afternoon, and then you’re free until nightfall when you’re expected at the Hilton across town for another round of press. It’s days like these that remind you of elementary school field trips, only instead of an ugly yellow school bus that was kept together by duct tape, you’re riding coach.

When both you and Zendaya are cleared for camera, you bring Tom towards the chairs, shoving him back, and forcing him down on the one furthest left. A few laughs go around, watching your boyfriend get shoved around in his expensive slacks and neon yellow turtleneck. You’d teased him earlier about the denim jacket he wore, asking if he took it straight from your closet back home. He grinned as if you we’re the funniest thing he’d come across, placing wet kisses into your skin until you begged him to stop, laughing nonsensically and promising he looked ‘hella hot’.

After a sound check, and a screen test to make sure none of you we’re washed out, cameras counted down from three. You squeezed Tom’s hand twice before you dropped it, eyes directly down the barrel of the camera.

“Hey, it’s Zendaya here.”

“Y/N”

“Tom Holland.”

Your boyfriend sounds entirely british as he pushes his fingertips together in his lap. He's tired, the long day wearing him thin. You can’t wait to strip your skin of makeup, let your dress fall in a pool around your ankles, and take a much deserved nap in his arms. As much as you love press, and being with your friends, you need your boyfriend's skin against yours. You need to decompress before you start all over again at sundown.

“And we’re uh, about to do our,” Zendaya looks to you, grin on her face. She’s tired, you all are, but unlike you she’s miles away from anyone to cuddle with. Maybe you’ll ditch Tom, fall asleep with Zendaya instead.

“Wired,”

“Autocomplete,”

“Interview.”

Zendaya’s handed the cardstock first, questions for Tom beneath strips of paper. You shudder, the same as Tom, when she scratches her fingers along the board and peels the paper away. You’re hardly as dramatic as your boyfriend, who coils into himself and raises his hands to his ears. You laugh, but your spine is still cold from the hideous noise. Your hand reaches out, and you tenderly pat him on the thigh.

A joke about your wedding comes into mind, but you pocket it for later, not willing to risk your intimacy making it into the final cut of the interview. You may be open about your relationship, and the fact that yes, you are banging Tom, but you’re still reserved with most things in your life-- including the engagement ring that’s tucked away back at your London apartment. Maybe one day, after the wedding, you’ll be open to sharing the ring, but for now, it’s your perfect little secret.

“Alright, first question. Does Tom Holland do his own stunts?”

“I do actually, I do my own stunts, but there are some stunts that I can’t do,” Tom’s eyes shift to you when you mumble beneath your breath, entirely displeased with the many times he’s come home hurt after he insisted that he could do his own stunts. He had too much faith and pride in his limited gymnastics background, “and then I have my stunt double Greg and Luke, who are incredibly talented, and have made some of the action sequences in this film, I would say, some of the most incredible sequences ever. Um, yeah, so I do do my own stunts, but I can’t take full credit.”

You smile softly, proud of all the work your boyfriend puts into not only his projects, but keeping himself in shape so the filming process isn’t so grueling. He’s missed out on a lot of sleep, but he takes his wins with his losses. He’s somebody you look up to.

“Does Tom Holland play video games?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You look towards your partner expectantly, lips coiled into an unimpressed pout. He’s the worst. No matter the hour, if he has a console with him, he’s chatting to Harrison until you either unplug the system, or crawl into his lap and beg with him to come to bed-- usually it’s the latter, but Harrison’s heard quite a few squabbles take place in your flat.

“You know, every now and then.” He shrugs, and your jaw drops. You raise your eyebrows, eyes locked with his. His cheeks flush, but nothing needs to be said. Your expression give away that his habit of video games is definitely more than a ‘once and a while’ occurrence.

Zendaya laughs, shaking her head at the pair of you before she pulls another sticker off of the board, looking down at the next question, “Does Tom Holland have a spidey sense?”

“If he did, he wouldn’t have answered the last question lying through his teeth.” You say before Tom has a chance to respond. Your boyfriend, ever the bashful boy, ducks his head down into his hands as he laughs, shoulders shaking.

You bear a smile at Zendaya, subtly winking. You’ve seen the compilation videos of YouTube and Instagram. You know that the fans have caught onto your relationship with the former disney star. You’d be lying if you said friendship wasn’t built on the foundations of picking on Tom, but your boyfriend could handle the heat. If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be in the kitchen.

Somehow, you make it through the first round of questions for each of you. Zendaya’s cracked jokes, but your social timer is running low. Tom can tell. You’ve stopped laughing at the little things, only offering small smiles and giggles. His hand wants to hold yours, rub circles into your skin as a promise that it’ll be over soon, but he can’t. He won’t let the world in on such a private moment. You already share so much of yourselves.

“How did Y/N become famous?” Zendaya read off a question, eyes lightning up as she nudged you with her elbow.

“Uh, Disney Channel.” You responded, a cheeky twitch in your lips as you tilted your head towards Zendaya. You hadn’t actually had a history with the company, but for whatever reason a rumor had spread that you and Zendaya went up for the same role back in 2009. You hadn’t, but you poked fun at the obscure lie as often as you could.

“Who is Y/N dating?”

“Tom Holland. Somebody’s gotta do his wash, and I don’t think Harry wants the job again.” You taunt, your boyfriend scoffing as he crosses his arms over his chest and sends you a sweet pout. You grin, tapping your thigh with your finger twice, a silent saying of I Love You.

“What is Y/N’s favorite color?”

You laugh, reminded of a question Zendaya got earlier about what she’s been up to. Sometimes, people's intense interest in your lives was confusing. You didn’t think yourself to be entertaining, but the millions of follows and fans who dedicated hours to edits and draws said otherwise. “Purple.”

“Who is Y/N’s favorite Holland?”

The three of you burst out laughing, your forearms resting on your thighs as you came back to yourself. The questions towards you were random, but the ones directed towards you provoked the most laughs. “I-- Besides Tom? I think it’s quite obvious who my favorite is, if we’re including him. Sam. Sam’s my favorite.”

You smile when the cameras cut, concluding your interviews for the afternoon. Tom pulls you back into his arms, whispering in your ear about how he can't wait to cuddle, curl up in your bed and sleep for a few uninterrupted hours before you’re sent back through the grueling process. You wouldn’t change your job for the world. Especially not when the constant conversation tires Tom out, and makes your already sweet boyfriend a life size teddy bear.

When you finally make it back to your hotel room, your eyes are barely open. You took your makeup off in the bus, and before Tom had even closed the hotel door you were kicking your high heels off and pleading with him to unzip your dress. He laughed, pulling his jacket off before he stepped up behind you. Letting it fall to the floor in a pool around your ankles, his arms wrap around you and tug you back into his chest.

“I love you, you goof.” You mumble against his lips, turning your head to the side so you can kiss him just as sweetly as he holds you. His sweater is soft beneath your bear skin, but you shiver anyways with the new lack of clothing.

“I love you more, Princess.”

☆ taglist (urls with a strike through won’t let my tag) →

@deionswannabegirl @killingbxys @mauvesdior @mischiefandi @dmonchld @waddlenut @tanakaslastbraincell @hollandsxheart @quacksonhehe @tothemoonandbackx3000 @stiles-o-dylan24 @tikapollak @tomthetease @spookybooisa @geminiparkers @teen--marvel @rogersparkerbarnes @sarcasticallywitty15 @anapocalypseinmymind

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #zendaya #zendaya x reader

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pengychan · 2 years

Text

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 28

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Well, this wedding was a long time coming. Took only about 200k words. Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

“Well well well, what have we here!”

“Gah! Ernesto-- pinche cabrón-- I told you a million times not to sneak up on-- hey! Give it back!”

Ernesto laughed, and easily ducked under Héctor’s flailing hands, holding the red songbook - brand new, a present from his future brothers in law - out of his reach. “Writing another song already? You’re on fire!”

“That’s private-- ”

“Who puts shoes on their head?”

“I said it’s private! Come on! I’m writing it for Imelda!” Héctor kicked Ernesto’s shin with a frankly excessive amount of force, snatching the songbook in mid-air when Ernesto dropped it with a yelp.

“Ow!”

“Serves you right.” Héctor huffed, jabbing at his chest with an accusatory finger. “I told you I don’t like anyone seeing the songs I’m still working on.”

“Ugh, come on!” Ernesto made a face, rubbing his shin. “It’s been ages since you promised me a song! You’ve written at least a dozen for Imelda--”

“I am about to marry her, and this is the one I’ll have you sing at the wedding part--”

“-- for Miguel--”

“I’m adopting him!”

“-- Gustavo--”

“He gave his life--”

“And even one for the hen!”

“Juanita is a rooster, if Cheech heard you-- ugh. Fine. I am working on that song for you, if you must know.”

“Oh?” A grin, and Ernesto forgot about the sting in his shin. He leaned against a tombstone - trust Héctor to write upbeat music in a cemetery - and waved a hand. “Something about my heroic rescue, I trust?”

“The heroic rescue we had to enact after you got your ass kicked, you mean?”

“... Look, I took a calculated risk and it would have worked perfectly, if not for the fact there was one guy who just had to recognize me,” Ernesto muttered, making a face. He tried not to think too much of that part, and it was getting… easier now that his chest hair had grown back enough to hide the word etched in his skin, a still fresh scar that had yet to begin fading.

The fact he could no longer be hanged for deserting an army which no longer existed helped, too. Much like Victoriano Hurta, the Federal Army had gone with a whimper rather than a bang. As a matter of fact, the only bangs to be heard as the news came were those of fireworks… at least in Santa Cecilia.

Elsewhere, gunshots were still fired; the end of Hurta’s power and the fall of the Federal army did not, after all, mark the end of all hostilities. Too long a conflict, too many lives changed, too many factions; with the tyrant most could agree to unite against gone and human nature being what it was, it was perhaps inevitable for some to turn on one another.

It would take time for things to return to normal everywhere in Mexico, for it to be safe enough to travel. And for the time being Ernesto, who still very much planned to become a famous musician one day was… rather content to wait it out. He could count on a roof over his head in a village where he happened to be rather popular, and with the work on church grounds not too demanding… well, it left him time to do something he rather enjoyed and that he’d been unable to indulge in. Namely, singing his heart out in front of a public during market days.

Finding that his throat and voice had not been damaged by the attempt at turning him into a tree decoration had been such a relief, he may or may not have had a cry in private.

“Sure, sure,” Héctor was saying, unaware of his thoughts. He flipped through the pages and finally handed him back the songbook. “Here. It’s just the first draft, don’t go singing it yet.”

Well, for a first draft, it was pretty damn good. Ernesto’s eyes went over the words and notes, mentally playing the tune, and he grinned. He may not be able to write a good song himself, but he could recognize a great song when he saw one.

For music is my language and the world es mi familia.

“You never get it wrong, do you?” he laughed, and handed the songbook back. “Why don’t you come with me when I leave?”

Héctor blinked. “Leave?”

“Well-- I told you, no? I want to be a musician, play for the world - you ought to know, you're writing a song about it! So I can’t stay here forever, you understand.” Ernesto shrugged. “I mean, I could buy a villa for myself here, once I’m rich and famous. For holidays. Once we’re rich and famous, if you’re coming!”

A small, somewhat incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“But I am!” Ernesto grinned, dropping a heavy hand on Héctor’s shoulder. “You’re an amazing songwriter, just think what we could do together!”

“Ay, mi amigo, I am getting married-- I want to start a family, and there’s Miguel. Don't take it the wrong way, I'm sure it would be fun, but… I think I’m spoken for.”

Ernesto shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to decide now. Maybe in a year or two, whenever it’s safer to travel, and it could be just a tour to start with. A few months and we’d be back. So just think about it. Your songs need to be heard--”

“Can’t I just write you some songs?”

“... Qué?”

Héctor held up the songbook. “I mean, I can write songs whenever. So I guess I can just let you use the songs if you want? Except the private ones, clearly,” he added quickly. “And write more. I wouldn’t really need to be traveling, no? Best solution for both!”

Ah. That was… a good point, really. Ernesto wondered how come he hadn’t thought of it first. “That’s… actually a good idea,” he muttered.

Héctor’s right eyebrow arched. “You know, I’m not sure I like how surprised you soun--”

“Anyway!” Ernesto cut him off with a wide smile and just a little hurriedly, clapping a hand down on his shoulder again. “Any news on the wedding date?”

Just like that, Héctor’s expression turned into longing. “None,” he sighed, as though announcing he had just gone through his third week without a single bite to eat. “Ay, all this waiting will kill me. We’ll marry as soon as we know we are released from our novitiate, but that letter seems to never come! I keep asking Padre Ju-- Father John, and he tells me to be patient.”

“Well, all the more reason to be prepared so you can have the ceremony as soon as possible, no?”

Héctor laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I guess it’s all we can do. Imelda is getting Ceci to make her a new Sunday dress - you know, she didn’t have much as a novice - and it will be ready to wear at the wedding, and-- ah, I almost forgot!” He grinned at him, golden tooth glinting in the sun. “How do you feel about being the best man?”

With a dramatic sigh, Ernesto placed a hand on his chest. “Ay, it is a burden, you know.”

“Huh?”

“The pressure of constantly being the best man around. But I try to stay humble and-- hey! Ow!” He yelped and ducked just on time to avoid being smacked on the back of the head again, laughing at Héctor’s groan.

“Pendejo-- my best man, I mean! For the wedding!” Héctor yelled, trying to smack him again, but he was laughing as well. Ernesto caught the hand still holding the songbook before it could connect with his head again, and grinned.

“Mi amigo,” he said, “I’ll be honored to grant you the honor.”

***

“... So really, your dress is almost done and you can come pick it up… Thursday afternoon, let’s say. I am glad you saw reason in compromising to periwinkle because really , that purple you had in mind? Lovely color for a Sunday dress, but if you’re to also wear it at your wedding-- come now, it simply doesn’t work, does it now? It’s the color of mourning, not a good look for… Imelda?”

Imelda, who had been staring at the calendar on the wall with a deepening frown on her face, recoiled when Ceci suddenly spoke her name. She looked back down, arms spread and unmoving to keep the pins in her new dress in the making from piercing her skin. “Qué?”

“Have you heard a word I said?”

“Er…”

Ceci sighed, somehow not displacing any of the needles she kept between her lips even while talking. Imelda had no idea how she managed that particular feat of ventriloquism. “Ay, never mind. What’s so special about the calendar? Oh, has the wedding date been set?”

“Ah… no, not yet,” Imelda muttered, turning back to the calendar, and inwardly starting to count again, all the way to twenty-eight. And again. And again. No, it couldn’t be right - surely there was a mistake.

She counted again.

It may be nothing concerning. Happens, sometimes.

Not to me. It was always on time, always, from the first month. Could have set a clock on it. Twenty-eight days. Never early or late by more than a few days.

Except that this time, it was… more than a few days. It was closer to… nineteen? Twenty, maybe? Ay, she should have made a note on her own calendar, but she hadn’t thought about it and now… now...

“Mmh. You’re acting awfully odd, you kno-- Imelda? Por Dios, are you well?”

“I-- yes, of course--”

“You’re pale! What is it? Have you been standing too long?”

“No, I… I mean, yes, perhaps.” Imelda gave a grimace that could barely pass off as a smile, heart pounding somewhere in her throat. “Do I need to be still for much longer?”

“No, no - a few more details and you can get out of the dress, I can add the finishing touches from here…”

Getting out of the dress without disturbing the carefully placed pins took a minute, but somehow it felt like an hour. She smiled, thanked Ceci, and left her home as quickly as she could without running, looking for Héctor with a pressing sense of urgency she hadn’t felt since she’d rushed to snatch him alive from the claws of Federales.

The concern that had been at the back of her mind for a few days was now a near certainty, and she knew they had an issue. And unless they found a way to fix that issue very quickly, Imelda was not sure she would be able to snatch Héctor alive from the claws of her mother.

***

“You-- mamá?”

“Héctor.”

“Baby. We’re-- baby?”

“Héctor, I am begging you to start functioning again.”

He tried, he really did, but all he could think at the moment was that he was going to be a papá - well, he was going to be a papá again, because he already considered himself Miguel’s papá before the adoption could even be official, and now he was having another child and it was going to be a baby and he and Imelda made that baby and--

“We’re-- you think we're having a baby?” he managed in the end, and when Imelda nodded, her mouth pulled in a tight line, he couldn’t hold back a grito from deep in his chest - unable to think of anything but the fact he was going to be twice a papá already and it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He laughed, picking Imelda up, and twirled. “Imelda! We’re going to have a baby! Miguel is getting a little brother or--”

“Lower your voice!” Imelda’s tone was somewhere between urgency, worry, an excitement barely kept at bay. “We shouldn’t be-- I am-- happy, but we’re not married yet and we need to change that immediately, do you understand?”

Ah. Right.

That.

Realization cut through the almost delirious happiness, and for the first time Héctor truly took in how worried Imelda looked... and for good reason. Having a child out of wedlock would be… bad. More for her than for him, by miles. He could get away with what they had done, the same way Ernesto could get away with bedding several women while pretending to be a priest, but people wouldn’t be quite as forgiving towards a woman.

… All right, there was Sofía, but she was an exception in the sense no one wanted to admit they had slept with a nun, so it was a fairly well-kept secret by several people who did not realize they were far from the only ones keeping said secret.

“Right. Right. Yes. I understand.” Héctor let go of Imelda and ran both hands through his hair, trying to think. “So we got to-- marry quickly. Of course. Yes. We got to be-- let go from the novitiate. I’ll get Padre Ju-- John to-- I, I will fix this! I promise!” He hurriedly grabbed Imelda’s hands and kissed her on the lips before grinning, trying to look more certain than he really felt. “We’ll be married by the end of the month. I have a plan.”

Imelda raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

Yes. Beg and, failing that, beg some more.

“You’ll see,” he said instead, and kissed her again on the lips before he took off, running as fast as he could towards the church. Still standing in the orchard, Imelda watched him go and dared crack a smile despite the anxiety, a hand resting gingerly on her stomach.

***

“Broth-- Hec-- Héctor, I have told you several times - I will gladly officiate your wedding as soon as you’re both officially released from your novitiate. Once that letter comes, I will let you know without delay. I fail to see how bringing this up every other day is going to speed this up.”

“Right, right.” Before him, Héctor made a valiant attempt at a smile that only came out a grimace. He seemed really nervous, Ernesto noted, leaning in the shovel to observe the scene comfortably, the heat of the day forgotten about.

At first he’d only been glad Héctor had showed up to speak with the gringo because it interrupted him right before he could subject him to another lecture about inconsequential matters such as ‘keeping a shirt on while working on church grounds’, but now he found himself genuinely curious about what was going on.

Because something was going on: Héctor’s furious blushing and stuttering made it clear enough. “I was-- just wondering,” he went on, nearly crumpling the hat in his hands, “if you could-- perhaps-- send a follow-up letter to make sure the instance to release us has not been misplaced? So we can marry, uh, soon. Sooner. As soon as possible.”

Father John Johnson sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. His left arm was finally out of its sling; the shoulder joint was stiffer than before, probably for good, but functional. “Héctor-”

“By the end of the month would be a really good time, come to think of it!”

“The end of the-- it’s the twenty-fourth of August today!”

“And the weather is wonderful, no? Perfect for a wedding! No need to delay--”

“A-hem.”

It was the fakest throat-clearing in history of all throat-clearing, but at the moment Ernesto chose not to bother putting his considerable acting skills to full use. He was a little too busy grinning widely enough that his face hurt, the sudden panicked look on Héctor’s face telling him in no uncertain terms that his educated guess on the reason for such a sudden rush to marry Imelda was entirely correct.

The gringo still looked confused, of course, but Ernesto suspected the train was about to arrive at that station for him as well. Just in case, he decided to give him… a little nudge.

“I am wounded, you know. I assumed you would tell me about such a milestone,” he said, knowing full well that Héctor would sooner eat a cactus than reveal such intimate details to him or… well, anyone else. “When did the happy accident happen?”

Héctor’s face turned an interesting shade of purple. “W-well-- we’re not sure-- we think--”

“Oh!” Ernesto’s face split in a grin of pure delight. Did Sofía know? Probably not, or else he would have been informed pretty quickly. Ah, she was going to love the news. “Multiple times, then?”

There was a noise like that of a wounded dog. “Ernesto, please! This is not-- Padre Juan, we must get married as soon as possible!” he pleaded, grasping the priest’s robe. “If we marry by the end of the month, we can still-- you know, say the baby was born a bit early, no one could really prove otherwise--”

“Baby?” John Johnson’s fair skin went chalk white in an instant, only to turn bright pink and then red in a matter of seconds. His expression turned from confusion to realization, to something akin to panic, then anger. “What baby are you--?”

“The baby they made,” Ernesto supplied helpfully, still leaning on the shovel. “Imelda’s baby. Héctor’s baby. That baby.”

“A-at least we think there is a baby-- I mean, Imelda thinks-- you know, her womanly-- issues, she says--”

“No need to tell me-- just-- how did it happen!”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow and decided to help him out. “You see, when a man and a wo--”

“For the love of God, Ernesto, I know how -- shut your mouth, will you!” Juan groaned, and glared back at Héctor, who in turn seemed to shrink. “And you-- I thought you’d know better!”

“I--”

“Carnal relations before marriage! Violating your novitiate, before being released from it!”

“Yes, what kind of pendejo goes and breaks vows?” Ernesto muttered, causing both Héctor and the gringo to simultaneously choke on their own spit. Ah, he was loving it.

“A-anyway--” Juan avoided his gaze and desperately cleared his throat, trying to regain control of his own voice and the situation. “Did-- did her parents not task her brothers to keep an eye on your-- your time together!”

“Juan, I feel you are severely overestimating those boys’ attention span.”

“Will you shut your mouth, Ernesto!”

“Padre, please!” Héctor spoke again, frantic. “You must help us, we really cannot wait now! If people find out-- and her parents!"

"Are you even certain there is a baby?"

"Imelda thinks it's very likely and-- and if she's right, we cannot risk waiting! Everyone would know the was, uh… made… out of wedlock. Can you not try to get the process sped up?”

“That is not how it works, Héctor! I have done all I can do! The letter to confirm you’re both released from the Church may come at any time, you simply never know with post. Any letter I send to follow up may take weeks to even arrive--”

“We could have a fake wedding,” Ernesto said. His suggestion was met with sudden silence, and both men turned to look at him like he’d just suggested something outlandish. All right, maybe he had, but what else did they even expect from an army deserter who had decided masquerading as a priest was the best course of action possible to avoid the gallows?

At least Juan seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of having a fit right away. “... Define a fake wedding,” he said, and Ernesto shrugged.

“You tell everyone that the letter arrived and that they can marry, so they have the ceremony for everyone to see, go live as man and wife. Then--”

“But-- but!” Héctor protested, waving his arms. “We want to be married for real! We do! We--”

“Cálmese,” Ernesto cut him off, holding up a hand. “Ju-- Padre Juan can officiate the real thing in private as soon as the letter does come.”

“Oh.” That idea clearly hadn’t occurred to Héctor, and his eyes widened with hope. He turned to the gringo, biting his lower lip. “Would that be-- possible?” he asked, and braced himself for a tirade.

Instead there was a long sigh as Juan ran a hand through his hair. “It would mean living in sin until the real wedding can take place,” he pointed out, only for Ernesto to shrug.

“Bit late to worry about their virtue,” he muttered, and Héctor’s face flushed again.

“Well-- we-- I mean, we could just not… anymore, until we’re really wed…” he stammered, only for Juan to groan.

“I should hope so,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He no longer sounded angered or embarrassed, only… oddly defeated. “May God forgive me for this charade in His church.”

“I mean, worse things have been done on church grounds,” Ernesto reminded him.

Juan’s left eye twitched a little, but he elected to ignore him and turned to Héctor - who was torn between worry, hope, and the desperate attempt to act like he had no idea what he and Juan did behind closed doors. If the gringo knew that he knew, he may very well implode.

“... Very well. I want it to be clear I am doing this for the sake of an innocent unborn child, who should not be bearing the shame of its parents’ rash decision,” he said, and Héctor’s expression melted in a smile that was so relieved and ecstatic, even the gringo’s scowl seemed to soften. “... Go tell your betrothed the ceremony is in three days. The seamstress may went to get a move o--”

A sudden grito caused him to cut off, and he stammered a little as Héctor threw his hands around him in a crushing hug. “Thank you, Father-- thank you! You won’t regret it!”

“Agh-- my arm-- put me down--!”

“Lo siento, lo siento!” Héctor laughed, and dragged the gringo in a clumsy half-twirl before he finally did put him down. Another yell of thanks and he was off, running as fast as his ridiculously long legs could carry him towards Imelda’s home

“Don’t I get thanks?” Ernesto yelled after him, receiving no reply. He rolled his eyes. “If it’s a boy, they had better name him after me.”

“... I’d rather you’re not associated in any way to further babies in this village,” Juan said, his voice dry, and Ernesto cleared his throat.

Ah, right. He was still hung up on the confessions a few women had made to him, in the weeks following… well, the unofficial reveal was that he was never a priest. They simply couldn’t keep their mouths shut in the confessional, it seemed, and it included at least three married women who had received his… blessing to help them conceive.

“I told you, that was, uh. Before we--”

“I can tell the time,” Juan said, voice still dry. “That was still extremely inappropriate of you.”

“... I feel I have done plenty of extremely inappropriate things. This shouldn't stand out.”

“For the sake of those women and their children, you had better hope none of them takes too much after you. A chin like yours would make their parentage painfully obvious.”

“Oh, ouch.” Ernesto made a face before grinning again, hoping to avoid another lecture. Juan had chewed him up well enough after finding out. “I told you though, there will be no more women. Married or otherwise.”

“I should hope so.”

“You keep me quite busy,” he added, and the gringo’s face colored again, though the frown did not fade. “... Surely there is a way I can make it up to you?”

“Yes. You can finish planting this vegetable garden by sundown.”

“Anything else I can do after sundown?”

“I’ll think about it. At the moment I have the most dreadful headache.”

“Ah.” A pause. “For real, or are you being passive-aggressive just now?”

“I do have a headache, thanks to Héctor. And here I thought he was more responsible than yourself.” A sigh, a roll of his eyes. Ernesto chuckled.

“... Gracias.”

“What for?”

“For helping out. The old Juan would have never.”

“Well, I couldn’t leave a child to suffer the consequences of being born out of wedlock,” he muttered, and looked over at Ernesto. “... Nor leave those two to suffer shame for an act of love, I suppose.”

He smiled, tilting his head on one side. “Getting soft, gringo?”

“Mph, hardly. But they did save your life in July, if what you told me is true.”

Ah. “It is. I wasn’t conscious through most of it, but I know I would have died without their intervention.”

“Then this will be my thanks for keeping you from further harm. Now get back to work.”

As it turned out, there was something Ernesto could do after sundown to soothe Juan’s headache. Plenty of things, really, and once all those things were done and they were resting close under the blankets, Ernesto dared to bring up the fake wedding again.

“Shame my little act is up,” he muttered. “It would have been perfect if it had been me to officiate the ceremony. A fake priest for a fake wedding.”

A small groan against his shoulder. “I am begging you to shut up,” the gringo muttered, and for once Ernesto was more than willing to acquiesce to his polite request.

***

“We need more flowers.”

“Miguel, these are all the flowers we could find in Santa Cecilia.”

“I mean, there are more in the cemetery…”

“I heard you, muchachos. No one takes the flowers from the cemetery on my watch!”

“But how about behind your back, Cheech?”

“You just need to turn around…”

“Absolutely not. Scram now, go see if your sister needs anything!”

A wave of Chicharrón’s walking stick was enough to make Óscar and Felipe run off - not in the direction of the cemetery - but Miguel was undeterred to make sure the flowers paving the way from the church to the site of the wedding party were perfect. Not that there was much else for him to do, other than supervising what other villagers were already doing.

Pretty much everyone had stepped up to help preparing the wedding in record time; Miguel was not sure if it was because all of Santa Cecilia had been waiting so long for Héctor and Imelda to just get together, or because they were still elated over the end of the Federal Army and looking for any excuse to celebrate a bit more.

Even Chicharrón was wearing a clean shirt and a polished leather shoe on his only foot, which was something Miguel had never seen on him. With Héctor having no family to speak of, Cheech had sort of stepped in to take on whatever the groom’s father is expected to take on, in his own way. He’d waved off Héctor’s moved thanks, and told Miguel that he’d smack him into next week if he tried to call him abuelo - but then he’d laughed and ruffled his hair, so Miguel was pretty sure it was an empty threat. Maybe he’d test it, eventually.

Not far away, Imelda’s parents were also making sure the decorations on each table outside the cantina was in place, too. They were each dressed at their best and it was… odd to think he would soon be referring to them as his abuelo and abuela. They were nice to him - they got him good clothes like the ones he was wearing now, and told him he could start calling them that even before the adoption was official, but Miguel still needed time to wrap his mind around it.

He still needed time to call Imelda and Héctor his mamá and papá, too. It didn’t feel real yet.

“Looking good, niño.”

“Gah!”

Miguel recoiled and looked up, startled. He opened his mouth to protest, but he found himself staring with wide eyes. Ernesto stood before him dressed and groomed like Miguel had never seen him, in full-on mariachi attire, perfectly fitting and all black and silver. In a way, it seemed much more natural than anything else he’d seen on him - the priestly robes, the simple civilian clothing. He looked in his element like never before.

“Hah! See, that’s the reaction I’m hoping to get! Hopefully, someone will still notice the bride,” Ernesto grinned down at him, clearly pleased. A quick look around told Miguel he wasn’t the only one to think he looked stunning: several people’s heads were turning,and Ernesto was very clearly enjoying every moment.

“You look-- good,” he muttered.

“I know, thank you. Looking good yourself. Ready for the performance? We’d better make it a good one, with all the planning that went into making those two idiotas drop their vows and marry.”

Miguel smiled back, only… a little nervous at the prospect of performing at a wedding party instead of the usual corner in the plaza or the church choir. But Héctor had specifically asked him and Ernesto to sing the new song he’d written for Imelda, and he really wanted to do his best. It was a good song, too. He could see Un Poco Loco become a huge success someday.

“Sure! I got my guitar ready,” he added. The prized white guitar Óscar and Felipe - oh he was never going to call them his tíos - had built for him was all polished and ready. It wouldn’t be his guitar for much longer, because he wanted to give Héctor a really nice gift and that was the most precious thing he had to give, but he would put it to good use that afternoon for the very last time.

“Perfect! Follow my lead and it will be well. Also, you may want to stop your dog,” Ernesto added, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb.

“Wha-- agh! Dante! No!” Miguel groaned, and ran to pull Dante away from the flowers he was feasting on before he devoured the entire path to the church. He was in the middle of an epic scolding when, suddenly, the bell began ringing.

It caused Dantle to howl along, but Miguel didn’t really pay him any mind: he just looked up towards the belltower, where someone - Sofía? - was pulling really hard on the rope, and grinned.

It was time.

***

Well.

So this was happening.

Imelda was not sure whether the flutter in her belly was caused by the fact she was getting married or by the unexpected guest who’d just decided to move in a little too early - was it too early to feel it? She had no idea and no way to ask without arousing suspicion - but she did her best to ignore it while walking up to the altar at her father’s arm.

The church was packed full of friends and family and just plain acquaintances; somewhere to her right, children were singing Gloria in a choir. No one seemed to have made any comments on how very quickly everything had been organised, but then again everyone seemed to think that the wedding had been a long time coming.... a lot longer, in fact, that either her or Héctor had realized.

Imelda kept walking, and turned a little to her right. Seats usually reserved to the groom’s family were full, too; Chicharrón was there, and Sofía, Miguel, and of course Ernesto. He gave her a quick grin, and she responded with the closest approximation of a smile she could manage. Then she was at the altar, and her father left her there with a kiss on her cheek and a nod at Héctor.

She finally dared look over at her groom, and she forgot how to breathe for a moment. Héctor was not a traditionally handsome man - all the love in the world did not change that simple fact - but right now he was beaming, and no other man could compare to the sight. She barely noticed his fine clothes, the care with which he had combed his hair; that glow, that smile, was everything.

This was happening. This was finally happening, and Imelda’s nervos rictus finally turned into a real smile. It took a slight clearing of Father John Johnson’s throat for her to remember they were supposed to kneel instead of staring at each other like the pair of lovestruck idiots they were. They both knelt, the choir’s song ended, and the gringo spoke up.

“Dearly beloved,” he spoke, his voice echoing in the small chapel. “You have come together into the House of God, before His minister and your loved ones, to enter into marriage. Christ blesses the love that binds you.” A pause, and he asked a question everyone present already knew the answer to. “Héctor and Imelda, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”

Oh, had they. Imelda folded her hands tighter, and they both spoke as one. “I have.”

"As you follow the path of marriage, are you prepared to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

“I am.”

“Are you prepared,” he spoke, with only the slightest twitch of his lips, “to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?"

Like you didn’t know, Imelda thought, and her own lips twitched before she answered along with Héctor, who sounded like he was trying not to have a little cry.

“I am,” they both said, and their glances turned over towards Miguel for just a moment. He was sniffling and gave them a shaky smile, reaching up to wipe his eyes. Ernesto’s hand was on his shoulder.

That look back was a bit of a break from etiquette, but the gringo let it slide. He nodded at them, and opened the Bible on the altar to recite some verses. An useless exercise, that: when he spoke, he recited each word by memory, not looking at the pages a single time.

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal,” Father John Johnson quoted, his voice oddly soft but still reverberating between the chapel’s stone walls. His arms were lifted, palms up. “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

A pause, and he folded his hands as though to pray. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

Imelda had somewhat feared a few… jabs about her condition weaved into a sermon, if nothing that would clearly give it away, and this was not what she had expected. The gringo was treating that wedding exactly the way he would a regular one; as though the fact it was technically not yet valid in the eyes of the church made it no less real.

Because it doesn't. Whatever vows we will tell in private later will only serve as the rubber stamp. We are married today.

In her surprise, she forgot she was supposed to keep her gaze lowered, and so did Héctor. They glanced up, and the priest looked down to meet their gaze. His voice remained soft.

“Love never fails,” he recited. “But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” The priest went on, and smiled for the first time since the ceremony started. Imelda had never seen him really smile before; it made him look ten years younger.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love,” he finished, and closed the Bible he hadn’t needed to read from for a second. He gestured for them to stand. “But the greatest of these is love.”

There were a few sniffles somewhere behind them - and beside her, really, because Héctor seemed really touched by the verses the gringo had chosen for them. It took him a moment to realize they were expected to stand up, and he did so on shaky legs. They joined hands, and they were so warm.

"Héctor, do you take Imelda for your lawful wife - to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

The smile was back, wide and still incredulous, and oh so bright. “I do,” Héctor said, and turned to look at her. Imelda didn’t so much glance at Father John when he spoke again to address her.

"Imelda, do you take Héctor for your lawful husband - to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

She smiled back, a little breathless, a weightlessness in her entire being. They would have to answer that question again in private once they were truly released from their novitiate, she knew, and she would give the same answer gladly - over and over and over. Still, Church’s consent or not, she’d consider Héctor’s her husband from that moment forward, until death and hopefully beyond.

“I do,” she said, and squeezed his hands.

Somewhere behind her two identical voices muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘awww’, quickly followed by a light smack. Ernesto and Sofía managed to turn their chuckles into discrete coughs, while the gringo made… a noticeable effort to pretend he had heard and seen nothing. He cleared his throat, and looked on as Héctor and Imelda both signed the simple sheet of paper declaring them husband and wife.

The witnesses came forward to sign as well; Sofía wasn’t really trying to hide the manic grin on her face, and Ernesto’s signature just had to have the most ridiculous flourish to it that Imelda had ever seen. Once they returned to their seats, the gringo lifted his hands.

"May the Lord in his kindness graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you," he said. "What God has joined, let no one put asunder. Let us bless the Lord."

"Thanks be to God,” several voices responded as one, and the children of the choir began singing again, but Imelda heard none of it - Héctor had reached over, tilted up her face, and kissed her. It made her rather weak at the knees, but an arm was around her waist to hold her up, and all was right in the world.

***

As far as Miguel was concerned, that was the best wedding party ever.

All right, maybe he was a little biased there because he had helped organize it and also he was currently singing his heart out along with Ernesto, who had taken charge of the guitar when his own arms had grown a little tired - but it really was the perfect party. There was food and laughter and drinks, and now some tables were pushed aside and people danced - even the nuns - with Héctor and Imelda at the center of it all.

Well. Ernesto was getting a fair amount of attention too, but Miguel didn’t mind too much. He’d helped make this happen, after all, and it was… fun, seeing him really perform for the first time. He somehow managed to sing, play and dance all at once without missing a beat, and he did it all so well, it was like he was born to do it. Miguel found himself trying to copy his steps while he sang along with him, through another song and then back to the one Héctor wrote specifically for Imelda, to be played that day.

“What color is the sky ¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor--!”

They sang it several times among other more traditional songs, until they were tired enough to take a break. While Ernesto muttered he needed water and then proceeded to drink something that definitely was not water, Migel kept staring at Héctor and Imelda with a grin. He’d taken off the jacket and her dress was a little rumpled, the flowers in her hair coming undone, but neither seemed to care. They looked so happy.

“Admiring our handiwork, eh?” Ernesto laughed, and suddenly the white guitar was back in Miguel’s arms. “You’ve got talent, muchacho, have I told you before? Have a go at the next performance yourself, I think I’ll take a moment to-- huh. Where’s the gringo?”

Oh. Miguel looked around, realizing that Padre-- Father John was not there. He’d taken part in the dinner and celebrations, sitting at a table and slowly drinking through a single glass of wine, seemingly content to watch the fun. But now the glass was empty, and so was the table. “Oh, he’s not here. Maybe he went back to the parish?”

“... Maybe.” Ernesto frowned, wiping some sweat off his forehead with a sleeve of his impeccable jacket. “I’ll go check on him and be right back.”

“Don’t take too long, Óscar and Felipe--”

“Oh, you mean your tíos?”

“Ugh, not you too!” Miguel rolled his eyes. “Never calling them that, ever. But they have prepared fireworks and they say it’s gonna be big. You don’t want to miss it.” A pause. “That, or you may be needed if there is an accident.”

“Right. I’ll make it quick then,” Ernesto muttered, and just like that he was off towards the parish. Miguel watched him go a moment, wondering why he needed to check on Father John, then he shrugged and gripped the guitar better, a smile on his face.

Time to give his best performance for the newlyweds.

***

“... Still allergic to parties, aren’t you? Or did seeing the effect I have on ladies bother you?””

Ernesto’s voice snapped John out of his thoughts, but he did not recoil. Part of him, he saw now, had expected Ernesto to notice his absence and come to find him there, at the parish, in his room. A meek smile and he looked up at him. He stood at the doorway in the weak light of the oil lamp. “I was just-- reading,” he said, and his gaze fell back on the yellowed sheet of paper in his hand, his father’s handwriting all over it. He had kept it in his Bible for years, reading it every day.

Sir, I am writing to demand you cease your attempts to contact my family. I have mourned the death of my firstborn, as did my wife. My children mourned the loss of a brother, and put it behind them. If you have a shred of decency, you will not reopen our wounds to seek a blessing that is not mine to give. Y our path in life, wherever it leads, is your own. You no longer have a father. I only ever had one son. For both of our sakes, never write again. Sincerely, Reverend Johnson.

Every morning and every evening he’d read it, until very recently - so that he may never forget his sin, what it cost him, and everything he wished to regain by cleansing himself of it.

His home. His family. Their love. His father had loved him once, had he not? He had been proud. He had stayed awake at night when he was sick with measles, nearly ill himself with worry. His mother, too, had loved him - how could it be, then, that all love for their eldest child had fled from their hearts so fast? At his first failure?

You no longer have a father, Reverend David Isaac Johnson had written. But he did, for a time. He had Father Joseph, who’d mentored him. Who’d called him his child, who had called him son, and whom he’d spurned in his desperation to fix himself, to win back the love of his flesh and blood. Because they loved him once - didn’t they?

“I don’t think reading that is good for you,” Ernesto said quietly, sitting beside him. He didn’t touch him, nor did John try to seek contact. He just stared at those words, at the signature.

Who did this to you, my child?, Father Joseph had asked.

A wise man, a man of God, the scared boy he’d been had wanted to answer.

“I thought over the words I spoke today, you know,” he murmured now, older and no longer quite as scared. “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”

“You’re not like--”

“But I was, was I not? Faith to move mountains, and no love for those I believed, in my arrogance, I was sent to save.”

No reply, and John let out another long breath. “If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing,” he murmured, staring at the letter. Beneath the robes, the scars across his back seemed to burn. “... Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

And they did none of those things. They had no real love for me, or anyone else. Maybe even for themselves. I have been trying to win back something I never had.

Ernesto remained silent. When John spoke again, his voice trembled. “I ought to burn this,” he whispered, staring at the letter. “But I don’t know if I am strong enough to.”

A nod. “Would you like me to do it?”

“... No. Just… would you hold the lamp for me?”

He did, fetching the oil lamp and holding it before John. Another long breath, and his eyes rested briefly on the only words that after everything still did, perhaps, ring true.

Your path in life, wherever it leads, is your own.

Goodbye, Father.

It took moments to destroy something he’d been holding onto for well over a decade. He let the small flame lick the corner of the letter and suddenly it flared up brightly; John Johnson let his father’s last letter fall on the ground, watched the flames eat at the paper, the ink, the words, the rejection. It burned through the name of Reverend Johnson last, and then there was nothing but ashes.

The flames died down, and John closed his eyes. He waited for tears, but they did not come.

“Juan.” An arm around his shoulders, without words, and it was all he needed. He leaned against Ernesto, let him embrace him, pull him close, and he knew it would be all right. For love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

And never fails.

***

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#pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

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Werewolf!Yunho meeting his mate

Type: Werewolf au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Werewolf!Yunho x HumanFemale!reader

Word count: 2,994

A/n: I know this took a long time, trust me, it felt like a long time for me too. With how I view Yunho, I expected this to be happier than it is. I was having a hard time while writing this, and it reflected on the story. Anyways please enjoy and stay safe!

TW: toxic relationship, financial struggle, deadlines, stressed reader, emotional and verbal pain, toxic masculinity, if I missed anything please tell me.

You sat at the foot of your bed, still not made, staring at the mirror resting against your dull colored wall with lifeless blank eyes. Your posture slouched as you finished tying the laces of your running shoes huffing and letting your arms flop to the ground. Looking at the mirror, you tried smiling, but it was meak and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

You hadn’t smiled a real smile in so long, you forgot what it felt like. To smile. To be happy. The forgotten emotion was one you took for granted when it was easy to to bask in the warmth of it. Now it's just cold. Cold and empty.

You looked away from the mirror with a tight feeling coiling in the base of your chest not being able to bear looking at the stranger staring back at you any longer. Your gaze fell to the laptop, abandoned, due to frustration on your desk in the forgotten corner of the room. The thought of unfinished drafts and incomplete sentences shook violently in your mind. Disappointment in yourself pooling in your gut remembering your editor’s words.

“If you can’t give us at least a first draft by the end of the month, we’ll have to unfortunately let you and your novel go.”

How pathetic was it that you couldn’t even come up with a simple sentence. A description, dialogue, a metaphor. Nothing. Anytime you sat yourself in front of the desk, your mind went blank. The cursor blinking at the top of the page mocked you with the possibility of millions of words. Not one ever made its way onto the page.

The end of the month was in two weeks.

You felt tears of hopelessness stinging the corner of your eyes, and you abruptly stood up grabbing your wireless earbuds, phone, and bag. Making your way into the kitchen you grabbed the water in the fridge and placed it inside your back, nothing but a numb feeling alienating you from reality and its broken expectations. You heard the front door of your little apartment open and slam close shaking the thin walls of the building.

Your heart lurched as you winced immediately feeling like you were walking on eggshells. You were usually quick enough to leave before he got home from work, but you had been a tad bit late this one time. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly hoping for it to ground you through whatever vile words came from the one person you should have been able to trust with your ugliest feelings.

Trying to walk past your boyfriend, eyes trained on the chipped wood of the front door did no good when he kissed his teeth and huffed as soon as he caught sight of you.

“You’re never home when I get home from work, and the one time you are here, you run away not even saying hi to me? Not even a “hey honey how was work today” or maybe a “hi love what would you like for dinner?” and never a “you’ve worked hard would you like a massage?” It's the same shit every day. You treat me like nothing when I'm the reason you even have a roof over your head woman.”

You kept your mouth the whole time he rambled on trying to ignore the clear stench of beer being able to reach you even with all the distance separating you, and the feeling of disgust mixed with desperation pooling at the bottom of your gut at yourself for not speaking up for yourself. Opening your mouth instead of letting your voice be taken from you. A long time ago, you would always say you would rather die than be without your voice. In a sense, you had died a long time ago.

Around three months after you had started dating. That had been two years ago.

Your English degree really did you no good. Not having enough time to be an intern in college really screwed you over when no job would take a bright eyed girl with the same passion in her heart for writing as a Karen’s passion for business that wasn’t hers, but with no experience. Even if the apartment was under your name, you’d probably be kicked out in weeks time.

You hated all of it. Everything that made up both the small and big parts of your life, you hated it. You hated his greasy hair and beady eyes, the nasty rough stubble covering the lower part of his face as a result of his laziness. You hated the hesitation in leaving him because of the fear of the stack of bills piling up next to the fridge. You hated the editors who couldn’t find it in some part of their greedy selves to extend your deadline. You hated the empty drafts sitting in your laptop collecting what could only be dead dreams and despair. You hated the cold emptiness that was always present in the confines of your chest.

You recoiled at the way he said “woman” the same way someone would talk about a bug. Small and insignificant. Patronizing and confident in the worst way. You set your mouth in a tight line not even being able to look at him. Shifting your feet, you crossed your arms and looked up to the sky as if calling out to some unknown being to get you out of this pathetic corner you were trapped in. You cursed under your breath looking at the dying flowers on the coffee table with distaste as they wilted towards you mocking you.

“What was that?” His voice got rougher with the menacing edge of fanned masculinity and control. Something that could put you in a dangerous place in a very fast amount of time. You looked at him with dull eyes poking your cheek with your tongue as a cold feeling settled in your gut.

Your hands fell limply to your side and you chuckled humorlessly.

“Fuck you”.

Those two words were enough to set him off as you slowly blinked and looked at the ground feeling your heart falter when he abruptly got up. You tried to stand your ground, but the surge of confidence was quickly withering away with fear taking its place.

Ethan was bigger than you. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than you, there was a noticeable difference in his frame and yours. Weirdly enough, you didn’t regret your curse at him. The words still burned brilliantly on the tip of your tongue.

It was bittersweet of course. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged as he took large strides over to you knocking the coffee table over on his path to you.

“What did you say to me you-” his words were said through gritted teeth, brash and loud in the silent apartment.

Maybe he was bigger and stronger than you, but you were faster.

You inhaled sharply reacting fast as your hand reached behind you, turning the knob and slipping around it slamming the door close. Your bag bumped against your back while you bolted to the door with the word “stairs” painted in big bold letters across it. You were already at the door when you heard your apartment door open and Ethan angrily called your name. Threatening to break your laptop if you didn’t go back right this instant.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the weak attempt. It’s not like there were much but empty pages anyways.

A heavy feeling soon settled on your chest as you went down the stairs. Your apartment was on the 4th floor, and the stairs weren’t the most taken care of, but it’s not like you had much of a choice anyways. It seemed these days you were always wanting to run away from something.

Your heart felt a little lighter when the warm rays of sun met your skin and the fresh air outside flooded your senses. Your walk to the park went as usual. Cars racing to get where they needed to, people chattered about everything and nothing, and your thoughts wandered to a world far away from this one.

A world that wasn’t as dark as this one. At the same time your mind became your executioner, it became your safe place. The sick contrast making a nasty feeling flood your chest.

You arrived at the park with a small smile. The normalcy of the day bringing a little comfort to your still racing heart. Kids ran around, laughter ringing in the air around them as their parents watched on benches gossiping among themselves. People raced fast either by foot, bicycle, or skateboard, a visible sheen on their necks. You looked for the kind old man who always looked after your bag while you ran.

He owned a music store a few blocks away, and he always sat on the bench closest to the pond with his cute corgi and habitually feeding the ducks peas and lettuce leaves when finished with a certain chapter of his book. You walked up to him with a small smile as he looked up and took the sight of you in with fatherly worry.

“You look a little pale kid, everything alright?”

You did your best to liven up and gave your best customer service smile which the older man immediately saw through.

“Of course Mr.Jung. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m just a little tired from the editors. They’re on my back more than usual”, you laughed nervously as he hummed in understanding.

“I hope that boy of yours isn’t giving you any problems. Hey kid, have you ever heard of the term “break up?” he looked so serious you had to compose your shocked face.

You waved your hands rapidly “I promise Mr.Jung everything is fine there is...I...oh my” you took a shaky breath as he simply shrugged his shoulders and pet his smaller companion who was having a very serious stare down with a duck.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your yoga pants while you looked around at the tacky named paths trying to decide which one to run today.

“The Pupper Runner path looks particularly nice today,” he suggested. You looked at the path pursing your lips in thought. The path wasn’t one you ran frequently. Since it was one of the wider and flatter paths, there were more people such as families or people walking their dogs. You also didn’t like having run-ins with the cyclists who were grouchier around this time of day for some odd reason.

After contemplating it, you shrugged and decided why not. Getting run over by a ticking time bomb on wheels wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. With a small smile sent in Mr.Jungs way, you checked your shoe laces before starting out with a light jog making your way down the specific path.

There was nothing really different about today’s run than others. Just having to dodge the wheel demons and kids happily running ahead of their worried mothers. You were grateful for the distraction. It kept you from straying too far into your head. It was just you running. Running like you always did these days, your shoes slapping on the concrete path and Got7 blaring in your ears.

The heat of the sun shone on your skin, but oddly you still felt cold. It was always cold these days. A light breeze fresh to your burning skin as desperate eyes caught yours, and you were once again bought out of your stupor.

A small boy was kneeled down fingers clutching his untied shoelaces not far from his dad who was trying to calm a crying baby. You didn’t really have a strong adoration for kids, but his panicked pinched face compelled you to come to a slow stop in front of him. Your chest heaved as you bent down to his level sitting on your heels and wrapped your arms around your legs.

“Hey bud, you need some help there?”

The kid made a distraught sound as he nodded his face shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked dumb founded as he stared at his shoe laces in search of answers they would never give.

“Mama said to make a bunny, but this looks more like my aunt Carol’s dog” he sadly told you.

You snorted reaching out gently to tie his laces with a double knot.

With a grin you looked up at him ruffling his hair and giving him a thumbs up which he happily returned with a toothy smile.

“It’s alright kid, you’ll eventually get it. Just keep trying yeah? Don’t settle or you might catch yourself tripping next time you go on a walk. You’ll get hurt. Wouldn’t want that would we”, you said, lips still stretched kindly upwards, but something in your words struck stingingly deep in your chest.

As the kid nodded happily with a carefree laugh you were about to get up when you heard the air being split and a strained voice yelling “watch out!!”.

You looked up, panicked, only to see a frisbee racing right in your direction with alarming speed. With the goal of protecting the small child, you quickly turned your body. Your shoes making a rough sound against the concrete as a startled light cry left the younger boy’s mouth.

With your hands ready, you easily caught the frisbee gasping at the shock of the situation. You quickly shook it off as you gripped the frisbee turning back to the child who profusely thanked you, his small hands shaking as they clutched onto the hem of your shirt.

You simply smiled reassuringly tapping his shoe and ushering him back to his father who has begun to successfully calm the fussing baby down.

With shaking knees you tried to get up only to wince and slightly waver at the sharp sting that hit your ankle area. You clenched your jaw feeling more than annoyed at the current situation in hand.

You stood up grumbling under your breath as a tall figure jogged over to you. While he made his way toward you, your narrowed eyes met his wide, apologetic ones.

You felt the world shift around you as a calming warmth shot through your body melding with the confusion and panic pooling in your gut, and his eyes widened impossibly as he stumbled managing to stabilize himself right in time in front of you. His figure standing just inches away from you as his hands trembled, and his lips slightly parted.

You got a slight whiff of cologne and mint, but more than anything, the weird feeling in your gut was making a way for the dreadful panic clouding around your heart.

You felt warm.

After feelings of feeling nothing but the hollow cold licking at your veins, there was a nice warmth settling in your chest.

You were scared of it.

With a heavy chest you slightly inched back left somewhat immobile due to the aching pain in your ankle. “What the hell?”, you immediately set off on questioning him leading him to shake his head frantically at you.

“I’m so sorry, i really am.” He put his hand on his chest as if trying to prove his sincerity to you, but you breathlessly took a step back stunned by the intense feelings taking over your heart and mind.

You tried shaking it off, but the warmth lingered.

You weren’t sure you wanted it to go away.

“There’s kids here”, you were so distracted by all the emotions circling your mind you couldn’t possibly put any effort into arguing with the young man. His lips parted to make way for his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. “I know, I'll be more careful next time. I promise.”

Somehow, you knew he was being truthful. You went to say something, possibly something dangerous, but you shook your head and waved your hand.

You tried taking a step but lightly hissed at the sharp pain that shot from your ankle up your leg. The man instantly dove forward steadying you with a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, and the other hovering in worry near your collarbone.

With wide eyes you looked at him as he realized his un-asked for touch and immediately went to back away.

He couldn’t.

Your hand was clutching the cloth of his shirt near his shoulder blades. Hands slowly uncurling, you smiled awkwardly, but he kept his hand where it was. At his touch, the warmth licking the insides of your body became all the more distracting.

“Um, I don’t think you can go all the way back home like this”, he cleared his throat looking at you shily under his bangs. Flustered, you smiled at the ground before looking back up and timidly asking “I can't. Mind helping me out?”.

At your question he let out a beaming grin nodding eagerly. He went to stand in front of you, and he crouched down looking at you over his shoulder with soft brown eyes. You did a small jump, and were caught by his hands slightly gripping under your thighs.

He gave a low chuckle that somehow was felt from where your chest was pressed up against his shoulder blades. “So...what’s your name?”. You let a light giggle escape, “Y/n, yours?”. You saw his jaw move with the syllables of your name whispering it to himself.

“Yunho”, you smiled also sounding out the name on your own mouth. You gave a shuddering exhale, and you laid your head on his shoulder letting yourself really rest for what seemed like the first time in forever.

That night you walked right past Ethan who was quick to begin yelling at you, and you tucked yourself under the safety of your blankets feeling the warmth still encasing your heart, so comforting and alive.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language/brief nudity Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering... could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique "soul mark", which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader is gender neutral, but at some points will be described as leaning towards being feminine (due to personal interpretation of Alcina's character). Additionally, Lady D will eventually be referred to by her first name, so don't worry if you feel weird about her being called by her full title all the time, it's just for this chap, when the reader isn't familiar with her. Lastly, this contains a bit of one sided Alcina/Miranda, which serves as a plot point, but is (clearly) not the primary ship.

1: In The Shadow Of Giants

Three months, two weeks, and one day. That’s how long you’ve been at this accursed castle, serving cruel mistresses, having been plucked from your peaceful life in the village. Anger stains your every thought, slowly festering inside your chest. There is no cure, at least not without a fatal price, but there are mild remedies. ‘Tis not long before the other servants learn to give you the more physically demanding chores. Nothing numbs your mind quite the same way that chopping firewood does, though you often settle for hard scrubbing age-old tile. Every day ends with your muscles crying from the effort of it all. Every day… except today. Another servant, from the night shift, has been wounded severely, and her job was deemed too important to be foregone.

And, as such, she has been replaced. By you. For once, you turn in early, long before your clothes can become stained with sweat. Yet you aren’t happy, not when you know that this change will ruin your sleep for weeks to come. Even worse, it’ll be impossible to avoid your ‘employers’, whereas working the day shift meant almost never seeing them. So far, you have only seen them on four or five occasions. Hell, you’ve only met two of them, being Cassandra and Bela. Based on what others told you, the other two weren’t much (if at all) better. As you try your best to get some rest, only a single ‘positive’ thought runs through your head: Well, worst comes to worst, I’ll get killed, then I won’t have to worry about anything anymore.

---------------------------

“Remember: No talking unless you’re asked a question. The Mistress has had a rough morning, and this is her best chance at relaxing,” Juniper explains, for what seems like the eighth time since the two of you met. There’s a nervous energy around her, which does little to ease your own anxieties. If you heard correctly, she’s only been at the castle for a couple weeks, having previously worked for Mother Miranda. You’re not sure what would have caused the transfer, considering most who were ‘fired’ ended up dead. Something told you that it had to do with antsy nature. “Oh, and don’t leave unless dismissed, even once your part is done. We all need to be ready, in case Mistress- I mean, Lady Dimitrescu needs something. Sorry, I’m still getting used to how things work here.”

“As long as you don’t slip up in front of her and get us both killed, I don’t really care,” you replied, giving Juniper a level stare. Clearly unsure how to respond, she pauses for a moment, mouth opening then closing without a sound. Once she’s seemingly composed herself, you give a short nod and push open the door to the bathroom. Two other servants are already inside, and they flinch at your arrival, briefly mistaking you for their boss. “I can hardly believe they made me change shifts for this,” you add, under your breath, rolling your eyes. What was so important about making sure a few candles stayed lit? During bathtime? Maybe it was something you had to be a giant, vampiric noblewoman to understand. Regardless of your annoyance, you quickly get to work, striking the first of a couple matches. It’s a rather dull task. To think you would have preferred heavy labor to this.

Before long, the last flame springs to life, and Juniper dims the lights, allowing the candles to become the focus. At least one is scented, though you cannot place the specific kind. Less than a minute after the last one is lit, the door once again swings open, revealing your most elusive employer. She’s… more than you anticipated. In every conceivable way, truthfully. Taller, more graceful (even as she has to duck through the entrance), and, as much as you hate to think so, far, far more beautiful. If not for the warm lighting of the room, you would have worried about someone seeing your blush. Certainly I am not the first to react this way, you think, as you bow alongside the others.

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Lady Dimitrescu says, with a sharp frown. Then she moves closer to the tub, which you imagine could fit half a dozen ‘normal’ people, and holds out her arms to her side. For a moment you’re confused, but you instinctively mimic the motions of the other maidens. Together the four of you reach for her robe, gently taking hold of it while she steps into the bath, before hanging it onto a nearby hook. A second later your entire world is turned upside down. You’re freezing in place, eyes wide, as the bare back of Lady Dimitrescu reveals itself to you. Yet this is not an instance of poorly veiled lust. No, it is equal parts horror and repulsion, for you find yourself staring at a distinctive soul marking.

One that matches your own.

Beside you, Juniper watches you with concern, silently urging you to stay silent. Neither of the other two servants seem to react, other than by taking a small step backwards. Unable to speak, let alone form coherent thoughts, all you can do is point a trembling finger towards the soul mark. It’s right in between Lady Dimitrescu’s shoulder blades. Once upon a time, you had marveled at the design, smiling every time you saw it in the mirror. Now, it might as well be the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen. Based on her expression, Juniper seems to agree, although for different reasons. As your hand drops back to your side, you try to compose yourself enough to focus on the task before you. Instead, someone breaks the quiet, boldly, daring to think that they would be rewarded for it.

“My Lady,” a servant says, stepping forward, shooting you a waywards glance. Instantly she has your employer’s attention, though that comes with the metallic sssssslk of her claws extending. There’s an unspoken threat that demands respect. None comes, however, just the frenzied words of a panicked maiden. “I know who your soulmate is, my Lady. I thought that perhaps you’d-”

“A name. Give me… a name,” Lady Dimitrescu interjects, claws still out and impatiently tapping on the tile floor. Tense, you start to step forward, wanting desperately to silence the treacherous maiden. But her tongue is faster than your fist, and soon enough your name is echoing through the room. “Oh? The one right behind me, hmm? Dreadfully convenient, really. Step forward, dear, and let me see the proof. Assuming it exists.” All eyes other than hers are on you, now. With a deep breath, you begrudgingly step in front of Lady Dimitrescu, trying not to even briefly glance at her chest (or worse, lower). One of her hands shifts, a long claw tilting your chin up. “Well?”

“Forgive the placement,” you mutter, awkwardly grabbing your shirt collar, tugging it down to reveal your soul mark, planted neatly on the center of your chest. If Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze wanders, it does so too quickly to be noticed, though she does make a low humming noise at the sight. Feeling much like a piece of meat on display at the butcher’s, you scowl deeply. Soon enough, but not as soon as you’d like, the claw under your chin retracts, and you once more cover up your soul mark. You can’t bring yourself to look your soulmate in the eyes.

“Hmm. Not what I expected. Not at all,” she muses, more to herself than to you, softly. Behind her, Juniper is sending you a sympathetic expression. All you can do, as Lady Dimitrescu judges you, is glare at the origin of this revelation. What did she think to gain by speaking up? Hadn’t she heard the same rumors that you had? Didn’t she know that your employer already loved another, even if that affection was unrequited? There was, simply put, no chance that you were the preferable option. Not when there was no race against neither time nor death. At best, you could be a distraction. Something to keep her mind off of the person she’d rather be with. “Go clean up, get some sustenance if you must, then go to my quarters. We will discuss this further there- after I am done here.”

With that said, she waves you off, letting you relax for the first time in several minutes. After giving a short bow, you immediately move to leave. On your way, you intentionally bump shoulders with the maiden who spoke up, sending her a glare, then give Juniper a nod of acknowledgement. Nervous wreck or not, she was the only person you ‘knew’ on the night shift. Not that such a thing would even matter soon. To think that we’ve been soulmates this whole time, you think, living in the same castle for months, never seeing each other. I wish things could have stayed that way. At least you’d have some time to process your developing situation. Though you doubted you’d have enough time.

---------------------------

In an unusual change of pace, Alcina dismisses the rest of her servants, long before her bath is done. They exchange glances before scattering to the winds. A heavy sigh leaves her lips, and she sinks lower into the tub. Of course I have a soulmate, she thinks, bitterly. I knew this. Knew that it wasn’t her, and yet still, I find myself surprised. Disappointed, even. How had an already rough evening gotten even worse? More than that, what was she supposed to do about it? There was a part of her that wanted to kill her soulmate. She figured that, with them out of the way, the universe might finally understand who she was meant to be with. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for ‘widows’ to be given a new match, and those were generally other ‘widows’. Considering that Alcina knew for a fact that Mother Miranda’s soulmate had long since died, she did not think that her hopes were beyond possibility.

But there was another part of her, quieter, that dared to be more realistic. If the universe said that this human, this tiny thing, was her soulmate… would it not make sense to at least try? What harm could it do, when her current love had been unrequited for so long? Was this not the end to several decades of loneliness? Damn it, she thinks, gripping the edge of the bathtub until her knuckles turned white. There was no denying it, now that a single drop of rational thought had corrupted her mind. Fuck it all, I hardly have a choice. Or anything to lose, for that matter. With her decision made, she rises to her feet, emotionally ready to face the unknown.

---------------------------

“Ah, so you do follow directions, after all. I half expected to learn that you had attempted to flee, or perhaps had a gruesome run in with one of my daughters,” Lady Dimitrescu chimes, as she ducks into her room. Inside, standing at attention, you await. All of your earlier nervousness returns, though this time it is tinged with your natural rage. Of all the monsters in the world, this was the one you were expected to love. It mattered not how tall she was, or how sharp her nails could be, or how fierce her loyalty to Mother Miranda. To you, it mattered that you had no choice in being here, that only a handful of servants had come to the castle willingly. It mattered that a single mistake could mean a cruel death. So you did not greet your soulmate with a smile, or excitement, rather with a forced bow and blank expression. Better to be dead than to fake true love. “Come now, do at least pretend that you are excited, for my sake. I have been waiting a century for this, after all.”

“Perhaps the universe found it difficult to find someone who could love you,” you say, the words tumbling out of your mouth, instant regret boiling up inside of you. What you expect is a swift death. What you get? A deep sigh, a scowl, a look of frustration. Still fearing your possible demise, you are quick to keep speaking. “Or maybe the universe heard me talk once, and struggled to find someone to tolerate me. Countless possibilities, a galaxy full of mysteries… and here we are. Forgive me for being crass, my Lady. I would blame it on my schedule change, but something tells me you would see right through that lie, yes?” Not like that was much better, you think, wondering how the hell you were going to survive this.

“You’re quite the character, aren’t you?... Do try not to make me regret this, I’d rather not kill my soulmate. Now, sit down, it’s about time for a proper introduction,” Lady Dimitrescu commands. Then she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, gently patting the spot next to her. Joining her is just about the last thing you want to do right now… but you obey nonetheless. Still, you angle yourself away from her ever so slightly, hoping the subtle body language would help you distance yourself from her. There’s something in her expression that tells you she knows exactly what you’re trying to do. “I am Lady Dimitrescu, though you already know that. You may call me Alcina… for now. Behave, or that is one of many privileges I will not hesitate to take from you. Understood?”

It takes all of your willpower to avoid rolling your eyes, but you manage, instead giving a short nod. This’ll be interesting, for sure.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #love this lady<3

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dccomicsimagines · 3 years

Text

A Loooooong Time - Wally West x Reader

Requested by Anon - Can you write an imagine where the reader hasn't been touched or had any intimate time with Wally for a loooooong time and she wants to know why and Wally confesses that he's afraid to hurt her during sex cause he can get a little too fast? Thank you!

***

Wally pressed you back against the wall. His lips sealed to yours. You ran your hands up and down his back before slipping your fingers under his shirt to touch his bare skin. He moaned, vibrating slightly under your touch.

Three, two, one and Wally was suddenly out of your grasp. “Sorry.” He was on the other side of the room with his back to you.

You sighed in disappointment and frustration. “It’s okay.” You bit your lip, watching his hands vibrate as he looked out the window of your apartment. Gathering your courage, you cleared your throat. “Is something wrong, Walls?”

“What? Something wrong? No.” Wally laughed too hard. A fake laugh. You wrinkled your nose.

“Come on, Walls. We can’t go more than a minute of kissing before you run away.” You wrung your hands. “Is it because what happened last time we...got farther?”

Wally turned to look at you, eyes wide, face flushed. “No. I couldn’t be upset that I hurt you. No way.” A hint of sarcasm slipped into his voice.

You rolled your eyes. “Wally, you didn’t mean to hurt me. You just moved a little too fast for me, but we can try again. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“(Y/N), beautiful. I can’t risk it again.” He looked back out the window, leaning against the frame. “Hurting you was the worst thing I have ever done.”

“Now you’re being overdramatic.” You went to his side and took his hand. “The worst thing you’ve done is mock my cooking skills.”

Wally snorted. His hand limp in your grasp. “Making me laugh isn’t going to work.”

“Then what will work, Wally West?” you said with a smirk. “I miss you.” You looked at him with wide, wanting eyes. He choked on his breath.

“No!” He jerked away from you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), but no.” He grabbed his coat from the bed. “I’m heading home. I’ll call you.” A gust of wind hit you as he disappeared from your apartment.

Your shoulders slumped, sinking down to sit on the floor and hugging your knees to your chest. “Wally, why?” Tears threatened to fall from your cheeks, but you kept them back. You wouldn’t pity yourself, not when Wally clearly needed to get over his fear of hurting you.

***

Wally’s heart was in his throat as he zoomed to the med bay on the watchtower. “Where is (Y/N)?” he demanded, skidding to a stop when he came face to face with Martian Manhunter.

J’onn blinked before gesturing for Wally to lower his voice. “They are resting for now. We want them to stay the night.” He stepped aside. Wally rushed through the doorway, going straight to your bedside.

You looked ill. Monitors beeped quietly around you. Wally frowned at the IV in your arm and the blood bag attached to it. He gently took your hand. A throat cleared from the doorway. Wally glanced over to find Dick standing there. “What happened?”

“(Y/N) took three bullets.” Dick bit his lip, moving to Wally’s side somewhat nervously. “They were protecting some kids.”

Wally’s hand tightened around yours. You shifted slightly in your sleep before relaxing again. “I told you to protect them,” Wally said harshly. “You promised me you wouldn’t let them get hurt.”

Dick sighed. “Walls, I can’t be everywhere at once. (Y/N) knew the risks and they will recover.” He bumped Wally’s arm. “Besides, you could have protected them yourself if you would have came with us.”

“Don’t start that again. I’m angry enough that you took (Y/N) with you.” Wally sat on the edge of your bed, studying your face. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your palm.

“Try to get some sleep, Walls. It won’t help (Y/N) if you stay up all night,” Dick said, slipping out of the room once he saw he no longer had Wally’s attention.

Wally stared at you for a long time, counting each breath you took. He almost had a heart attack when he got the call you were injured. Why were you always getting hurt? At least this time it wasn’t by him. He swallowed hard.

Time passed, his eyes struggled to stay open. After a mental debate with himself, he carefully laid down beside you. You shifted closer to him, sighing in your sleep. Wally froze, panicked before forcing himself to relax. Resting his arm on your hip, he fell asleep with the comfort you were safe.

***

You felt a heartbeat against your cheek. Wally’s cologne tickled your nose. You took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that floated through your body. Opening your eyes only a little bit, you smiled when you saw the warmth you felt by your side was in fact Wally West himself.

Joy filled you along with contentment. This was the first time in a long time that Wally would dare cuddle with you. “I should get hurt more often,” you whispered to yourself before closing your eyes again and enjoying yourself.

***

“Wally, I can walk, you know.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you to your apartment.

“I know, but I don’t want you to get overtired.” Wally blushed, giving you a tight smile. You nuzzled his neck, giggling when you felt his pulse throb against your nose. “(Y/N).”

“Wally.” You smirked at him. He grumbled, bumping your apartment door open with his hip. “Thank you.” He set you on your couch.

“You’re welcome.” He sat beside you, leaving a wide space between you. “Are you in pain? Do you need your pain meds?”

“No, I’m good.” You smiled at him and took his hand. “Just sit with me.”

Wally shifted uncomfortably, but stayed where he was. Silence fell between you. It was peaceful. You closed your eyes, relaxing. Wally’s hand stayed in yours. Suddenly, Wally’s stomach growled, breaking the silence.

You laughed. “Hungry?” you asked, opening one eye to look at him.

“Always,” he chuckled. “Do you want Chinese? I can have it in a flash.”

“Sure.” You bit your lip. Your heart soared. He was almost like the Wally you first fell in love with. “You know what I want.”

He got to his feet and started to lean down to kiss you. You leaned up to meet him when he suddenly hesitated, eyes wide. A frown pulled at your lips, pleading with your eyes for him not to regress into his self-doubt. Wally’s eyes shined and he slowly leaned down to press his lips against yours. You didn’t move, too afraid you would scare him off like a rabbit in the woods.

“I’ll be back soon.” He pulled away too quickly and was gone with a gust of wind. You sighed contently. It was progress.

***

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” you mumbled as you bent over to turn on the facet of your bathtub. The water ran. You ran your fingers under the stream, testing the temperature. Once it was warm enough, you stood back up. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” You moved to get out the bottle of bubble bath, gasping when it hurt your wound. The bottle fell to the floor.

Wind rustled your hair as the bottle was suddenly in Wally’s hand. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Yeah, but I feel gross.” You blushed, taking the bottle out of Wally’s hand and dumped some into the tub.

“Babe, how are you going to get into the tub? Or get undressed?” He blushed redder than his hair.

“I can manage.” You rolled your eyes. Bending down again, you gasped in pain. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Wally helped you up. “Let me help you.”

You ducked your head to hide a smile. Wally’s hands shook as they moved to your shirt. “Thank you.”

Wally hummed. You shivered as the cloth of your shirt slid against your skin. He pulled it over your head gently. You hissed slightly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” A smile pulled at your lips when you saw Wally’s eyes roamed your bare chest. “Like what you see?”

Wally’s face turned as red as his hair. “Always.” He smirked. Slowly, he dropped to one knee to pull off your pants. “I missed this.”

“Me too.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “Maybe you could join me in the bath like we used to?” He looked up to meet your eye as he tugged down your underwear. “We won’t do anything, because I’m not able to move the way I would like to, but I just want to be held by you, Walls.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “I thought I was going to die.”

Wally swallowed hard. “When I got the call, I almost vibrated my phone to pieces.” He hesitated for a moment. His face pressed against your stomach. “You scared me.”

You closed your eyes, enjoying the vibration of his mouth against your stomach. “I know.” You glanced at the bathtub. It was dangerously close to overflowing. “I think we should get into the bath, huh?”

Wally smiled, getting to his feet to pick you up in his arms like you were the most fragile thing in the world. “I think we should.” He stepped into the tub and sat down with you in his lap.

You gasped. “Wally, you still have your clothes on.” You laughed hard enough to hurt your healing wounds.

“Oops.” He looked down at himself in genuine surprise. “I got distracted, but this is fine. You’re comfortable, right?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You snuggled into him. “I love you.”

Wally kissed your forehead. “I love you too.”

***

Weeks passed and you healed. Wally stayed with you the entire time. He didn’t shy away from touching you, even going so far as to sleep next to you. It made you feel like you were on the top of the world.

Wally’s confidence grew. You saw it in his step and in the way he kissed you. The insecurity that had haunted him for so long was slowly disappearing.

“Keep your eyes closed, babe.” Wally’s hands covered your eyes for a second before disappearing. You laughed, delighted.

Things moved around. You heard a lighter flicking on and off. “Wally, was that a lighter?”

“Maybe.” He chuckled, coming back to your side and leading you toward your bedroom. Your heart skipped a beat. “Okay, open your eyes.”

You timidly opened your eyes to find your bedroom lit by candles and the bed covered in rose petals. “Oh Wally.” A huge grin grew onto your lips as you looked at him. He blushed, standing there shirtless. His hands vibrated, revealing how nervous he was.

“I want to try again if you’ll have me.” He smiled sheepishly, finally meeting your eye. You smirked at him.

“Always.” In a move so quick that you almost caught him off guard, you kissed him hard and knocked him back onto the bed. He laughed and kissed you back. You finally had your Wally back, and you will argue he was better than before.

#wally west #wally west x reader #wally west imagine #kid flash #kid flash x reader #kid flash imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #young justice imagines #yj imagine

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

And Dusk

A/N: It's family dinner time, babes!!

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Word Count: 3629

—————————————

Chapter 12: Team Zero

Striding into the steam-clouded sauna where the two remaining Swedish assassins now silently relaxed, The Handler began an unprompted conversation in their language. “All the new age remedies out there, but nothing beats a good schvitz when it comes to stress,” As she sat on the bench, the two men carefully watched her. “My job can be stressful, sure. But I can’t imagine what it must be like for you boys.” She batted her eyelashes.

“Do we know you?” The Swede, who appeared to be the leader, questioned. The Handler kept her head turned forward as she stared down.

“No. But I know all about you,” Standing from the bench, she quietly chuckled and walked to the center of the sauna, the steam crawling its way up to her neck. “However, seems you’ve run into some problems on this job.”

“Just a snag.” He tilted his head.

“You lost your brother. I’d call that more than a snag.”

Snapping, the second Swede pushed off the wall and marched up to The Handler. Before he could get too close, he grunted when she grabbed hold of his manhood, freezing his steps. She watched as his mouth fell open in pain. “What if I can give you the location of the knife-hurling dolt responsible for blowing up your beloved brother?”

The first Swede tilted his head. “Who are you?”

“Somebody you’re going to want to know.” Her eyes never left the man she was assaulting. The second Swede finally found the breath within him to speak.

“Unharm my weiner.” He wheezed in English, The Handler kindly doing as he asked, a smile on her face. He sighed and stepped away as his brother held up the hand that had been twirling a knife the entire time.

“Go on.”

At his words, she turned to him. “I’ll give you the exact location of the one you’re looking for. Diego. The rest… I’ll leave up to your imaginations.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Let’s just say that his little game of ‘Hide the Sausage’ with my daughter needs a swift end. I just have one request,” The Handler approached the first Swede, the two in close proximity now. He watched her every move. “Don’t hurt the little one with the cute socks… and the other with the face scars.”

Lifting his chin, he furrowed his brows. “We’ve already killed her.” He mumbled. She only chuckled in amusement, the two men stiffening at the realization that their target may not have been executed like they thought.

-------------------------------------------------

The clicking of Reginald and (Y/N)’s shoes against the marble floor echoed throughout the hallway they walked down. The young girl was desperately trying to keep up with her father’s long strides, her puppy in her arms and her heart beating out of her chest. If they had actually complied, she was going to reveal her true whereabouts for the past two years to her family. They were going to know that the entire time they had been looking for Reginald, she was living under the same roof as him. No matter how many times she swallowed the lump in her throat, it always swelled right back up. “D-Dad, who are these people we’re having dinner with?”

“These people have been nothing but a nuisance to me.”

Her mind flashed back to the night of the gala. Diego had been there with Five. They were there for Reginald, to find out his intentions with the president. To find out what he was doing in Dallas in the first place. Reginald was a secretive man, he didn’t even let Grace or (Y/N) into his office unless he was present as well. Her stomach twisted in knots of anxiety the closer they approached the door to the tiki lounge. When Reginald stopped just before the doors, he turned to his daughter and lowered his voice. “When we enter, you are to sit and remain silent. Do not speak to them, do not interact with them. Sit and shut your mouth unless I tell you otherwise. And your pet remains on the floor or in your lap. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She whispered and held Mr Pennycrumb close to her chest, the pup quietly panting and licking her cheek. That seemed to be enough for Reginald, for he nodded and turned forward, slamming the door open and marching into the lounge.

The Hargreeves stood dumbfounded at their father as he headed straight to the table they surrounded, not a word leaving his mouth. None of them had expected to see him ever again, especially not after the funeral they had attended back in 2019. But what they really didn’t expect to see was (Y/N) right behind him, her eyes avoiding them as she absentmindedly pat Mr Pennycrumb under his chin. She especially avoided looking at Five, whose jaw was dropped upon her appearance. The real kick was when Reginald pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit. Without even a peep, she sat down and allowed him to scoot her closer to the table before taking his own seat. The five blinked once before taking their own seats at the table.

“Not only have you burglarized my lab, set my chimp loose, conned your way into the Mexican consulate, repeatedly stalked and attacked not only me, but my daughter as well, but you have, on numerous occasions, called me-”

Klaus joined the table with a grunt, a martini in his hand. “Hey, Pop. How’s it hangin’?”

“-‘Dad’,” Reginald gave everyone a once over as (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably under the stares of her family. “My reconnaissance tells me you’re not CIA, not KGB, certainly not MI5, so… who are you?”

(Y/N) watched as they all glanced at each other, opening their mouths to answer, but quickly closing them instead. This went on for a few seconds before Five decided to do it, “We’re your children. We’re from the future. In 1989, you adopted us all and trained us to fight against the end of the world. Called us the Umbrella Academy.”

Reginald turned his head from left to right, frowning at each individual. “Why on earth would I adopt six-”

“Eight. One of us isn’t here.” Allison clasped her hands together on the table.

“Dead,” Diego muttered, his head bowed down. “One of us is dead.”

“And the eighth?” Reginald questioned. (Y/N) cleared her throat and began to speak, but stopped when he sent a cold glare her way. “What did we talk about?”

She quickly shook her head. “No, I… I’m the eighth. I’m also your child from the future. You just… got me very early this time-”

“(Y/N), it is not the time for your games-”

“It’s not a game! W-Why do you think I’ve been leaving my dates with Preston to be with them?” At the words ‘dates’ and ‘Preston’, Five leaned forward, eyes narrowed at his love. She glanced at him apologetically and shook her head. Reginald was just about to scold her yet again, but she rolled the sleeve of her shirt up to reveal the umbrella tattoo on her left arm. “Did you forget about this?”

“Yeah, ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. Enough of that now.” Klaus hissed and turned behind him. Everyone froze and stared at him in confusion. Turning forward again, he simply motioned for Reginald to continue. Uneasy, he did just that.

“Regardless,” His gaze turned back to Five. “What would possess me to adopt… seven ill-mannered malcontents?”

“We all have special abilities.” The boy answered.

“Special? In what sense?”

(Y/N) set her pet on the ground and sat up in her seat. “In the superpowered sense.” She raised her brows. Reginald sighed and clenched his jaw.

“My child, if you do not stay out of this as we agreed, I am going to have to send you to the car with your mother-”

“Dad! I am being so serious when I tell you I am one of them!”

“Well, call me old-fashioned, but I’m a stickler for a pesky little thing called evidence,” He turned back to the table. “Show me. All of you.”

Allison scoffed and adjusted the straw in her drink. “Everybody wants to see powers all of a sudden…”

“We’re not circus animals, okay?” Luther spoke. “We’re not gonna bounce balls on our noses and clap our hands like seals for your amusement-”

As if on cue, Diego launched a knife across the table, zipping around Reginald’s head and pinning itself into the pillar behind him. The seven leaned in and watched as the man clicked his pen and began writing in his journal. “What are you writing?” Diego asked. Reginald glanced up at him.

“You are zero for two, young man.” He quipped, Allison sputtering her drink before Diego jumped up from his seat in anger. To prevent anything disastrous from occurring, Five stood and blinked in front of his brother, halting his movement and whispering a ‘stop!’ to him. “Now, that is interesting.” Reginald muttered.

Five sighed and headed back towards his seat. “Alright, uh, quick rundown. Luther: super strength. Klaus can commune with the dead. Allison can rumor anyone to do anything.”

“Except she never uses it.” Diego muttered. Allison removed her lips from her straw and sent a tight-lipped smile towards her brother.

“I heard a rumor… you punched yourself in the face.”

Against his will, Diego rammed his fist into his face, crying out and groaning in pain immediately after. Klaus reached over and tried to comfort him as (Y/N) and Vanya ducked their heads down to hide their smiles. Reginald glanced over at the latter. “And you?”

Luther placed a hand on his sister’s arm with a smile. “Uh, maybe we don’t take Vanya for a test run.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably not a good idea.” Klaus sat back in his chair.

“It’s fine,” Vanya shrugged, reaching for a fork. “I can handle it.” And despite her siblings’ protests, she tapped the fork against her glass. A high-pitched tone rang and shook the table. (Y/N) held her breath as she waited for the worst. A beat later, the bowl of fruit in the center of the table exploded, chunks of fruit splattering against everyone’s clothes and faces. (Y/N) tried to dodge as Mr Pennycrumb jumped into her lap, happily licking the food from her scarred cheeks and chin.

Reginald sighed along with his future children as he handed his only actual daughter a napkin to clean herself. Adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, he side-eyed her. “Alright, my child, show me.”

Not even hesitating, (Y/N) stood and placed her pup in her father’s lap, despite his clear distaste, and straightened her clothes. “Alright. So, I can clone myself. To both summon and dismiss these clones, I have to sing two distinct three-note tunes.” To prove her point, she ‘ooh’ed her first tune, her clone appearing from her shadow, standing with a blank stare. Reginald raised his brows and began writing in his journal. “These clones not only share a conscience with me, but function as muscle and spies.”

“Spies?” Reginald frowned.

“They’re able to record their memories for me to look over in my own mind. Over the past year, I’ve come to learn that I can view these memories in real time. They also function to fulfill any task I command them.” Turning to her clone, she placed her hands on her hips. “Pick up Pennycrumb’s leash,” She commanded, the clone immediately doing as it was told. “I’ve also recently learned that I can give them the ability to talk. But if I wanted to… oh, I don’t know… attend a date with a certain boy without actually being there, I can project my consciousness into its body.”

After taking a seat, (Y/N) immediately slumped in her chair, unconscious. The clone beside her perked up and blinked twice before turning to Reginald. The man leaned forward to inspect it, but jumped back when it spoke. “But if something prevents my clones from fulfilling their task, they will start to self-destruct after twelve hours if said task isn’t completed. This is done by tearing into its own flesh and ripping itself apart.”

At this, everyone shivered.

“Right. It’s terrifying,” The clone returned to its blank and empty shell before (Y/N) raised her head. “And to dismiss, I hum the tune from earlier in its descending order.” She demonstrated said tune, the clone disappearing into her shadow. Mr Pennycrumb excitedly jumped from Reginald to her lap, nuzzling into her arm. “Any questions, Dad?”

Reginald was hastily scribbling into his journal. “Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary… And even more so that you’ve managed to keep this power from me for over a year.” He whispered. Turning her head, she caught Five’s proud smile. She winked at him as Diego stood from his seat.

“Look, we know that you’re involved in a plot to assassinate the president.”

“You were recently hospitalized, isn’t that correct? You still appear to be suffering from delusions of grandeur and acute paranoia.”

“Am I?” Diego reached into his back pocket and slid a picture over to his father. “Explain this. That’s you. That’s two days from now on the grassy knoll at the exact spot the president’s gonna get shot.”

Reginald picked up the photo and scanned it before his eyes moved to his daughter, the girl slightly shrinking under his gaze. Receiving his answer to the question he was to ask her, he turned back to Diego and set the photo down. “Well… I suppose you’ve solved it. You’ve single-handedly unearth my nefarious plot,” The smile Diego wore slowly faded. “Is that what you want to hear? You fancy yourself a do-gooder? The last good man who will save us from our descent into corruption and conspiracy? This is a fantastic delusion.” The more Reginald tore into him, the lower Diego sat himself into his chair until his lips were quivering and a tear slid down his cheek. “The sad reality is that you’re a desperate man, tragically unaware of his own insignificance, desperately clinging to his own ineffectual reasoning. More succinctly, a man in over his head.”

“Y-Y-You’re wr… wrong.” Diego stuttered. (Y/N) shakily inhaled and slammed her hand onto the table, alerting the rest of her siblings.

“Don’t you ever talk to him like that!”

“And you!” Reginald whirled to his daughter, the girl flinching a bit. “You have done nothing but deceive me! I half expect you to tell me that the man you chose over Preston sits among us!”

(Y/N)’s gaze instantly found Five’s. His green orbs were pleading, begging her to say it.

Tell him. Tell him you love me. Shout it from the rooftops, promise that you’ll always believe in us. Tell him.

But she couldn’t. Not when her doubts sealed her lips shut and casted her eyes away from him. The siblings stared between the two, heartbroken for their situation. Seeing that she chose to be ashamed, Five nodded and cleared his throat to speak. “Look, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days. We need to figure out how to stop it.”

“War?” Reginald looked away from his daughter and to the boy across from him. “Men will always be at war with each other.”

“No, this isn’t just some war. I’m talking about a doomsday. The end of the world.”

“Well,” Reginald muttered after a beat of silence. “You’re the special ones, aren’t you? Why don’t you band together and do something about it?”

Expecting much, much more than that, all seven of them frowned. This was what Reginald wanted from the start, for them to come together as the Umbrella Academy and prevent the end of the world. But it had been almost two weeks and two apocalypses managed to form due to their actions. That was why they couldn’t.

Grunting, Klaus suddenly raised both his arms in the air and shook uncontrollably, choking out gasps and jerking his body. (Y/N) gasped and slowly reached out to him.

“Is he having a seizure?”

“Overdosing, probably…”

“Should we do something?”

Whipping her head to Luther, (Y/N) widened her eyes. “Yes!” She shouted before turning back to Klaus as he shuddered. “Shit, what if he is overdosing?!”

“Klaus,” Five leaned over and whispered. “Now is not the time. What are you doing?”

Gurgling, Klaus turned his body to Reginald, face contorted in discomfort. “I’m… Ben!” He gasped out before falling to the ground, panting and groaning. (Y/N) rushed to his side and placed a hand on his forehead.

“Klaus? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” She whispered as he reached up and weakly wrapped a hand around her wrist. Reginald looked from Klaus, to (Y/N), then to his journal before he gathered his things.

“Well… thank you for coming,” He stood from his chair and began to walk away, stepping over Klaus’s body. “I’ve seen about enough. Come along, (Y/N), your mother is waiting for us.”

A loud slam sounded, causing everyone in the room to turn to Luther, who stood and ripped his buttoned shirt open. (Y/N) covered her mouth when he revealed his discolored bare chest and abdomen. “Look at what you did to me! Look at it!”

As the siblings groaned and gawked, Reginald simply turned his attention to Five. “You in the culottes. A word, in private? (Y/N), to the car. This instant.”

“Yes, sir.” She whispered before giving Klaus a kiss on the forehead and standing to her feet. Five walked by her side in silence until they had to split ways. Reginald turned to the both of them, and just when (Y/N) was going to turn out of the lounge, Five grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her lips. Gasping, the girl brushed her fingertips over her lips as her face burned. She watched Reginald for a reaction, but he only motioned for her to leave. “Bye, Five.” She grinned behind her hand and hurried away.

“This way, boy.” Reginald brought Five’s attention back to him, leading the two of them to the bar. After they took their seats and he ordered their drinks, Reginald turned to his future son. “You seem to be the sensible one of the bunch.”

“That’s because I’m the oldest,” Five nodded, Reginald tilting his head. “You know, technically, I’m older than you right now.”

Reginald turned forward when the bartender set down a bottle in front of him. “Cognac?”

“Just a smidge.” Five slightly smiled. As he poured their drinks, Reginald started their subject of conversation.

“The other night, you quoted Homer at me. Why?”

Five shifted in his seat and straightened his blaser. “You forced us all to learn it as kids. In the original Greek, no less.” He raised his brows before a glass was passed to him. He and his father did a silent cheer before he took a gulp of it. The entire situation was so jarring to the boy, but as he said before, he didn’t choose this life. He’s just living it. For the next few days, anyway. “This world ends in five days if we don’t get out of the timeline.”

“Worlds end. Paleozoic, Jurassic, and so on.”

“We can do something about this one.”

“Man’s greatest flaw: the illusion of control.”

The boy frowned. “I need your help. Alright? You’re my last sane option. Otherwise, I gotta make a deal that I really don’t wanna make. What do you know about time travel?”

“In theory?”

“In practice.”

Reginald hummed. “I know it’s akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing waters and reappearing-”

“-as an acorn. Yeah.” Five finished with a sigh.

“What transpired when you tried traveling before?”

The boy blinked and shook his head as he looked away. “I botched it…”

“How?”

“I jumped too far forward, got stuck in the future for forty-five years in an apocalypse. Then I jumped too far backwards… except this time, I brought my entire family with me.”

Reginald tapped his fingers against the bar as he clicked his tongue. “Including (Y/N)?” He questioned, receiving a nod in answer. “Well, maybe your appetite is disproportionate to the size of your abilities. Start small. Seconds, not decades.”

“Seconds?” Five widened his eyes. “Look, no offense, but I need a bit more time for what I’m trying to accomplish here.”

“So much can change in a matter of seconds. One can overthrow an empire,” His eyes moved from Five to the doorway (Y/N) had been standing in seconds ago unbeknownst to Five. “One could fall in love. An acorn doesn’t become an oak overnight.”

Five swallowed, his expression that of defeat. “I was really hoping you had more than that.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help…”

Five shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, too. I gave you such a hard time as a kid… I didn’t know any better.”

Humming, Reginald glanced down before raising his glass. “No skin off my teeth, old man.” He smiled before drinking. Five sighed and downed the rest of his drink before standing from his seat. “One more thing.”

“What is it?” Five turned back to his father, freezing at the cold look he had been giving him.

“It would be best… if you refrained from courting (Y/N).”

A pang going through his chest, Five rapidly blinked and stepped back. “W-What…?”

“Your relationship is not healthy,” Reginald stood from his stool and began walking past the boy. “And besides…”

Five clenched his fists as his father walked towards the exit of the tiki lounge.

“I have plans for her.”

—————————————

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